


Ma Vir'Abelasan

by Calyah



Series: Ma Vir'Abelasan [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood and Gore, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Flashbacks, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Mild Sexual Content, Original Character(s), Violence, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-03-20 14:17:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3653502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calyah/pseuds/Calyah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Well of Sorrows’ voices have become too much. Fearing for her life, Ellya Lavellan seeks out the sentinel elves from the Temple of Mythal. Can they help her reclaim her mind and control the power of gods? If they can, what will remain when truth and fear have nowhere left to hide? (Post-Game Fic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Ellya jerked awake, gasping for breath. She swallowed hard, but she could still taste the saltwater on her tongue, could still feel the ghostly echoes of its choking force straining in her throat. Once again the dream had been too strong, too real. Another memory fighting for purchase in her mind. Another voice that wasn't her own. And yet, save for the few lingering sensations, as soon as she returned to consciousness, the remnants of the dream were lost, forgotten in the recesses of her mind and impossible to recall.

Blinking against the early morning light, Ellya sat up and tried to calm her breathing, steeling herself against the ever present throbbing that banded between her temples and burrowed into her mind. She brought her hands up to cradle her head and soothe her thoughts, shivering as her blanket fell and the morning air hit her sweat-drenched skin.

Ever since the Temple of Mythal, when she had decided to drink from the Well of Sorrows, she had been plagued: by visions, by voices, by memories not her own. At first, they had been small, a gentle caress against her mind to aid her in her purpose against Corypheus, things she could remember and use. As time went on, though, they got stronger, more insistent on their place in her thoughts, becoming tangled and overpowering to the point of suffocation. She could not remember the visions she experienced anymore, nor use whatever knowledge they were trying to impart. Each person’s memories had become too strong and enmeshed, warring for dominance and rendering each one hazy and intangible. She had done everything she could think of to learn to control the power, had asked the Dalish clans she could find and looked through the remaining circle towers for any scrap of knowledge. She had even gone so far as to ask Dorian to search the libraries of Tevinter for any scavenged piece of lore that could be of use. But, it had been several months, and the control had still not come. In fact, it was slipping. She had thought she understood the consequences she had subsumed when she had walked into that pool, but now she knew just how naive she truly had been.

"Morning, sunshine."

Ellya pulled her face out of her hands and turned towards the gently whispered voice from across the camp.

"Good morning, Varric," she said with as much of a smile as she could muster. The dwarf was busy packing his belongings into his saddlebag and dousing the campfire.

Was it already time to set out? Ellya frowned as she looked around the small clearing. Both Dorian and Iron Bull’s belongings were gone, and the camp neatly broken down and tidied up in preparation of the day's journey.

Varric seemed to sense her confusion.

"They went to water the mounts. Should be back any moment." He looked at her with barely-concealed scrutiny. "We thought you could use some extra sleep. You haven't exactly been at your best lately."

Running her fingers through her hair, Ellya nodded. She knew they worried, even though she tried to hide the true scope of her pain and fear. It was why they were here with her, on her journey for answers.

She cleared her throat and stood from her bedroll.

"Thanks."

She stooped to pick up her traveling robes and armor and turned to the tree line to get dressed.

It would most certainly be another long day ahead of them. The ancient elves, those few who had survived after the attack on the Temple of Mythal, were whom they sought. Leliana's agents had tracked them ever north, deep into the forests of Arlathan, but the trail had gone cold. Still, Ellya and her companions pressed on. They had been traveling blindly for weeks, making their way on scraps of knowledge and whispered gossip. They knew it was her only chance, her only hope to control the power she had so rashly consumed, before it took over and controlled her instead.

Wincing as she pulled her chain shirt over her head, Ellya turned back towards the camp when she heard the lumbering footsteps of their mounts returning to the clearing.

"Ah, our Mythallian princess has risen from her slumber," Dorian said with cheer, while Iron Bull walked over to her bedroll to scoop it up and fasten it to her hart.

Ellya scowled, but couldn't find the energy to be truly cross at his manner.

"Yes, well, some of us require a little more rest to reach your level of beauty," she countered, before reaching down to pull on her boots and lace them up the back.

Dorian preened and gave her a smirk. “As if anyone could ever.”

Varric made a great show of rolling his eyes as he took the reigns of his nuggalope from the mage, but kept his usual sarcasm to himself.

"Yeah, yeah, you're both very pretty," Iron Bull said, his tone both exasperated and affectionate.

"Come on, Boss," he continued, wrapping an arm around her waist and leading her to her mount. "Let me help you up."

Ellya brushed his hands away and gripped her saddle.

"I'm not an invalid." She turned from him and hooked her foot into the stirrup. Pulling herself up was painful, but she needed to maintain her dignity, as well as her pride. The assault on her mind, the constant thrum of pain in her head, had left her body feeling weak, but she would fight to the end to not let it show.

"Guide me safely today, sweet Da'vir," she whispered into her hart’s ear, softly stroking his tawny coat.

Ellya grit her teeth as she felt Iron Bull loop a thick belt across the small of her back, around her hips, and fastened it securely to the horn of her saddle.

"Just in case," he said apologetically, a half smile on his face. "Don't want another nasty fall.”

Blinking slowly to push back her anger and frustration, Ellya gave him a tight smile and turned her head away from her companions. Iron Bull was right. She had slipped unwittingly into too many visions to be sure of her own safety. It infuriated her. More than that, though, it was terrifying. To not have control of when the whispers would hit and pull her mind away deeper into the memories of the strangers stored in her head. To never be sure if the next vision would be the one that broke her tenuous hold on her own mind and consumed her completely, the one that would never let Ellya Lavellan reach the surface again.

"Shall we continue to the east?" Dorian asked as he swung his leg over the back of his horse and settled into his saddle.

Ellya clicked her tongue and moved Da'vir forward.

"Yes," she replied, leading the way. "When I spoke with the shamans yesterday, they suggested we go deeper into the forest. They hadn’t seen any strange, new elves, but it’s worth a shot."

Varric settled his nuggalope into stride next to her hart.

"Sounds as good a lead as any." His tone was hopeful and optimistic, but she could see the worry behind his eyes when he looked at her, the furrow in his brow when he thought she was turned the other way. Ellya sighed and glanced at her companions. Perhaps they were just as frightened as her.

The rest of the morning was spent in comfortable silence, each of them scanning their surroundings for clues to the elves’ whereabouts. At midday, they stopped for a brief meal and sought respite in the shade from the suffocating humidity of the forest. Soon, though, they pressed on, deeper in the trees. The surroundings became wilder the further they ventured. Monkeys whooped in strange calls that echoed across the canopy. Insects buzzed, and the sound of dripping water hung in the air.

Despite the uncomfortable warmth, made worse by her chainmail, Ellya found the lull of the forest to be quite welcoming. To be near the land that once held the grandest city of the Elvhen empire excited her, taking the slightest edge off the pain in her head.

With the gentle lope of Da’vir, and the tranquil sounds of the forest, Ellya found her head beginning to sag, swaying back and forth with a heaviness that she found impossible to fight.

***

_“M’lath, you cannot linger.”_

_The feminine words, soft and teasing, reached Ellya’s ears. Opening her eyes, she looked down at the smiling face of the elven woman in her arms. Beautiful onyx eyes and bronzed skin. Her love. Languidly, Ellya’s own body stretched and wrapped around the smaller woman._

_“I do not care.”_

_They were her words, spoken from her mouth, but it was not her voice. It was a deep and masculine rumble, emanating from her chest. She felt her hand trail up the woman’s leg, past her knee, and grip her thigh to bring her close._

_The woman laughed again, low and sultry, before she brought her mouth to Ellya’s for a kiss._

_“You will be late for your oblations,” the woman admonished, after pulling away and sitting up._

_Ellya watched, mesmerized, as smoke floated tantalizingly around the woman’s nude torso. The smell of sweet incense reached her nostrils and the strong pull of arousal itched her fingertips forward, urging her to touch. She wanted nothing more than to pull the woman close and enjoy her body and her love once more._

_“I can see your hunger, m’lath,” the woman teased, lithely stretching over her and pressing her breasts onto Ellya’s chest._

_Ellya brought her hands up to grip the woman’s hips and shifted her body until she had rolled and pinned the woman beneath her._

_“Steal away with me tonight,” Ellya whispered._

_The woman smiled, wiggling her body and opening her mouth to speak. Her lips moved, her tongue darted, but Ellya could not hear the words. The incense curled once more around them, clouding her vision and turning the edges of the room fuzzy. Her own mouth moved, too. More words she could not process._

_“Wake up.”_

***

Ellya opened her eyes with a startled gasp. Blinking rapidly, she tried to clear her clouded thoughts and reclaim her mind from the memory. Another vision so soon? She pressed her cheek against Da’vir’s strong neck, grounding herself with the soft sensation of his fur, and trying to forget the surge of pain behind her eyes. It was getting worse. They had never happened so close together before. What did that mean? She did not want to think about what would happen to her if she could not find answers soon.

Feeling the last tendrils of the memory fade away, its contents fuzzy and just out of reach of remembrance, Ellya sat up and glanced around. The others were conversing quietly atop their mounts, perhaps discussing her state and the ease in which sleep and visions were beginning to take her. As if sensing her scrutiny, Iron Bull turned and gave her a sympathetic nod. He appeared happy that she was awake, but said nothing before turning his attention back out to the forest. How long had she been out? She peered upwards and scanned the breaks in the leaves. The light was getting low through the canopy. Too long. There would not be much day left to continue their search.

A small niggling at the back of her mind, so different than the usual pain, caused Ellya to furrow her brow and look around more carefully.

“Wait,” she called to the others, bringing Da’vir to a halt. Something was wrong.

“See something, Boss?” Iron Bull asked, peering into the shadows of the trees.

“I don’t know,” she replied, hastily undoing the belt that secured her to the saddle and scrambling to the ground. “Let’s look around.”

Using her staff to push away the thick foliage, Ellya made her way through the forest, Dorian, Varric, and Iron Bull close at her back and scanning their surroundings for any sign of threat. Something was driving her forward. She could feel it.

She trudged through the thick undergrowth and swept aside long, tangled vines. The area seemed much the same as any other they had traveled in these wilds, but Ellya knew appearances were deceiving. She could feel it. The air had the taste of magic, feral and old. The mark in her hand and the voices in her head thrummed at the familiarity.

Turning left and sprinting ahead, Ellya burst into a small clearing. Not fifty paces away, nestled quietly between the thick trunks of ancient trees, was the top of a low, crumbling wall.

“Bull, the mounts,” she whispered, taking a step forward along the lichen-covered ground.

As Iron Bull turned back along the path they had cut, Ellya, Dorian, and Varric pressed closer to the ruins.

Reaching the low wall, Ellya peered over the edge and felt her eyes widen in surprise. The land sloped downward between the trees into a deep crevasse.

Exchanging a glance with Dorian and Varric, Ellya rounded the wall and inched closer to the hidden trench. It was not very wide across, but its depth was impossible to estimate. A stone stairway, covered with slick moss and the wet leaves that had been cast down from the trees above, sat along the far edge, a lone statue guarding its entrance: a wolf.

“Fen’Harel?” Ellya wondered aloud. She knew much of what she had learned and studied as a child had been wrong, but, still, the presence of the trickster wolf made her stomach fill with unease.

“Shall we?” Dorian asked, as they made they way around the crevasse and to the top of the stairs.

Nodding, Ellya took the first, tentative step down the stone path and towards the abyssal darkness below. Who knew what the passing of centuries had done to the abandoned temples of old?

Ellya looked around mesmerized as they made their way deeper. The earthen walls were hardened with time and etched with unfamiliar symbols and drawings, perhaps elven stories whose meaning had been lost to the ages.

It took several long minutes to reach the bottom, for the ambling stairwell traveled deep into the hidden recesses of the earth. When they finally stepped off the last stone step and onto the solid marble of the floor, though, Ellya and the others could only stare in wonder as they looked around.

Green and lush, with a small stream coursing through its middle, were the remains of what was clearly an old temple, similar in style to the Temple of Mythal in the Arbor Wilds. Veilfire torches dotted the walls, casting a beautiful sheen of light around the space. The roots of large, old trees twisted and sprung up from the tiled floor, and vines raced along the walls, tracing the cracks between the stone.

“I thought being underground was more of a dwarf thing,” Dorian whispered.

Ellya reached for one of the torches along the wall.

“These ruins must be thousands of years old,” she said in awe, moving the light of the fire to examine more strange carvings. “Anything is possible.”

Walking forward and through a large archway to the larger hall, Ellya noticed several hallways branching off from the main room.

“Let’s split up and look around,” she said, gesturing to the diverging paths. “Call out if you find anything.”

The others nodded and, grabbing veilfire torches of their own, split out to the right, down two separate, dark hallways.

Ellya took a deep breath and started down her path to the left. As she walked deeper into the temple, her muscles tensed. Around every corner were crumbling altars with centuries-old offerings and frescos of winged beasts and howling wolves, the only sign of life the moss and insects below her feet. She shivered and her skin tingled. It was like walking through a burial ground.

Climbing over a large root across her path, Ellya found herself at the arched entrance of a large chamber. Columns lined the edges of the circular room and a low altar stood at its center, veilfire torches flickering brightly at its sides.

Ellya took a step forward into the room and gasped. Raising her own veilfire torch, she took in the splendour painted across the walls. Forests. Elves in regalia. A woman transforming into a dragon. A gleaming, golden city bathed in the pink hues of a setting sun. All of it was staring at her from the round walls of the room, perfectly preserved despite what she could only assume to be their considerable age.

A strange flickering of golden light at the corner of her vision caught Ellya’s eye. Turning, she stepped closer to the altar. A small ruin, etched in magic, was pulsing gently on a rough stone at the center.

Bending at the waist and setting her staff aside, Ellya raised a hand to trace its unfamiliar lines.

“Move and you die, banal’len. This place is not for you.”

Ellya felt the tip of the arrow before she saw it. Its sharp point pushed hard into the side of her cheek, drawing out a small trickle of blood that ran freely down her face. Raising her hands away from the altar in an attempt at pacification, she shifted her eyes towards the owner of the bow.

A tall, male elf towered over her, his arm pulled back and ready to attack with the bow between his hands. His armor looked old, but gleamed in a way that indicated it had been tended with care. Taking a further look at the armor, Ellya opened her mouth in shock. Gold and Black, with an ornately appointed hood, it was the same armor worn by the sentinel elves she had met at the Temple of Mythal.

Moving slowly so as not to startle the elf into attack, Ellya trailed her gaze to his face. There, standing out in beautiful contrast to the warm, deep black of his skin, was Mythal’s vallaslin, the symbolic branches swirling in gold across his forehead. She pushed back the relieved and triumphant tears that welled at the edge of her vision.

“By all means, keep pointing that thing in my friend’s face. Bianca’s been itching for a fight.”

The elf twitched at Varric’s words, obviously taken by surprise by the fact that she was not alone, but he did not release his threat. Instead, he pushed the arrow harder into her cheek, causing more blood to flow.

Her breath hitching at the pain, Ellya quickly glanced back towards the entrance to the room. Iron Bull had rejoined Dorian and Varric, and the three were standing just inside the chamber with their weapons drawn.

No, this could not end in violence. She had not ventured so far to antagonize the ones she hoped could help. Her eyes searched the small space, but she could see no other sentinels.

“We mean no disrespect,” she said carefully, keeping her hands raised and well-within the elf’s sight. “I come searching for the sentinels of Mythal. Those charged with guarding the Vir’Abelasan”

“Then you may die knowing you found them,” the elf all but snarled. Ellya drew in a harsh breath, as she saw the bowstring pull back farther in preparation. So much for diplomacy.

Before the elf had the time to make good on his threat, Ellya reached up as quickly as her hand would travel and snared the shaft of the arrow between her fingers. A small spark of magic, and the projectile was aflame.

The elf let out a small grunt of surprise, but only seemed to be angered further by her actions. In one swift move, he brought the body of his bow across her face in a powerful blow, sending her to the ground.

Spots flew across her vision. Ellya lay dazed staring up at the ornately painted ceiling. She could hear the sounds of her companions attack around her, Bianca’s cranking mechanism and Bull’s loud battle cries and grunts, but between the ache deep in her mind and the new pain echoing in her jaw, she could not yet push herself to her feet.

“Tamael, enough!”

The loud command sounded in the small space, leaving silence in its wake.

Gingerly, Ellya moved to her knees with a muffled groan. Blinking against the pain, she tried to focus her gaze to where she thought the command had originated.

Another two elves appeared from the shadows behind the altar, one female, slightly stooped and leaning against a gnarled staff, and the other blessedly familiar.

Abelas.

“Ah, yes, I was hoping this particular ray of elven sunshine would be here.” Dorian mumbled, making his way to her side and helping her to her feet. “Are you all right?”

Nodding and steadying herself, Ellya took several steps towards the elf, hoping beyond anything else that she had finally found the answers to her prayers.

“Abelas.” Ellya opened her arms in entreaty but hesitated. Now face to face with whom she had been seeking for so long, she felt anxious and unsure. She dropped her arms to her sides. "I need your help," she finished quietly. 

The first elf, Tamael, scoffed and shifted his weight.

“We do not offer sanctuary to banalvhen.” His lip curled as his eyes roved over her form. Turning to her companions, he sneered, “Nor to their deplorable company.”

Ellya narrowed her eyes and held up her hand towards Dorian, Varric, and Iron Bull. They needed to tread lightly, despite the offense given, if they wanted the sentinels’ aid. She opened her mouth to speak, but the third elf stepped forward.

“Has your bitterness left you so blinded, Tamael?” It was the female elf, her voice hard and reproachful, and graveled by age. Raising her arm towards Ellya, she continued, “Can you not sense the very magic you swore yourself to protect? She is the receptacle.”

Tamael’s eyes squinted at her, and Ellya could see his jaw harden. 

“An unworthy one,” he muttered. 

“Abelas didn’t seem to think so when he allowed me to drink,” Ellya said, squaring her shoulders and standing as tall as she could, despite the throbbing in her head. “And neither did Mythal.”

Letting out a scornful breath through his nose, Tamael stepped forward and bent his hulking form over her.

“Mythal is dead, banal’len, murdered long ago.”

Taking her own step forward and causing the elven man to straighten, Ellya jutted her jaw.

“Her spirit lives on, in another host, whom I have met,” she said and let a smug smile form when she saw the slight shock pass over Tamael’s face. It was childish, but she couldn’t help herself.

She heard Varric chuckle from somewhere at her back.

“Now who’s the unworthy elf?” the dwarf called.

Taking his staff in hand, Abelas stepped to the side of Ellya and Tamael.

“Enough of this,” he said, his tone clearly annoyed. He gave a pointed look at Tamael before turning his full attention to Ellya. “You have come seeking my aid. For what purpose?”

Ellya’s shoulders slumped. The time had come for answers, to find out whether or not her journey had been in vain.

“The knowledge of the Well,” she began, stepping away from the elven men and gesturing to her head. “I…I can’t control it, and it’s getting worse. The voices are taking over.” She paused and placed a hand across her brow. It was time for the truth, no matter how dangerous it was to admit. “I’m afraid I’m dying.”

Ellya heard the startled murmurs from her companions, but she kept her eyes on Abelas. The elf crossed his arms across his chest and looked her up and down.

“Did I not warn you that there were consequences to those who would drink?” He asked, clearly not greatly disturbed by her admission.

“I had little choice!” Ellya shouted in exasperation. Closing her eyes briefly and taking in a deep, calming breath, she stepped closer to Abelas and put all the desperate emotion she felt into her voice. “If I could just learn. Learn to remember what the visions show me. To separate them. Call them forth and push them away on my own command. Please. If I could do that, I wouldn’t feel so…attacked.” She searched his eyes, looking for any hint of compassion that he might understand what she was going through. “Please, you must know how to teach me.”

It was the elven woman who stepped forward, her brow furrowed. She looked over Ellya with a sorrowful expression.

“We are merely the guardians, da’len,” she said, though not unkindly.

Feeling her world sink and her last hope fade away, Ellya felt get body go numb. All that time and travel, all those hard months spent on the road pushing herself onward despite her pain, all of it for nothing.

“There must be a way!” Dorian shouted, though Ellya barely heard it in her shock. Her mind was scrambling, disbelieving and not wanting to give up, even though giving up would be an easy release.

She looked away from the elven woman and noticed Abelas still staring silently at her, contemplating perhaps. They held each other’s gaze for several, long moments before Ellya noticed his chin tip down in the slightest nod.

“You may come with us,” he said softly.

Tamael’s hand came quickly to Abelas’ arm, gripping his bicep and urging him to attention.

“Abelas,” he whispered fiercely, a touch of warning in his tone.

The sentinel mage simply shrugged off the other man and continued to speak to Ellya.

“I cannot promise you your life nor your sanity,” he said, raising an eyebrow and searching her face. “The Vir’Abelasan was never meant for one such as you, a mortal.” He glanced back at Tamael, who nodded and backed away, before returning his attention to her. “But I will teach you what I know.”

Relief was sweet and strong. For the first time in months, Ellya felt more than just the faint trickle of idealistic hope.

“Thank you,” she said with force.

Abelas gestured over her shoulder.

“Your companions must turn away,” he said with finality, causing her friends to start speaking all at once in discontent. Ellya held up a hand to silence them. If Abelas was willing to help, then she would gladly make concessions to the small things he might ask.

“I cannot allow further desecration of our sacred ground by allowing them to remain,” he continued.

“Not a chance,” Varric said, coming to stand directly at her side.

“Varric.”

Turning to the dwarf, Ellya shook her head.

Iron Bull wrapped a strong hand around her arm. “No offense, Boss,” he said, “but your head’s not exactly all there.”

Ellya couldn’t blame their protectiveness. They had watched her descent from the beginning. Of course they would want to remain at her side and protect her if anything went wrong.

Placing a hand over Bull’s, Ellya gave him a gentle smile. 

“That’s exactly why I need to do this. Return to the village we stayed in,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. “The one two days south. Wait for me as long as you like, but I can’t say how long I’ll be. Please consider returning to Skyhold.” Turning, she gave each companion a tight hug. “I’ll be fine.”

It didn’t taste like a lie to her, but she knew there was no telling what the future would bring.

When she turned back to face the three sentinel elves, Ellya saw Abelas gesture to his side and let out a low, quick whistle. Almost instantly, two more elves emerged from the shadows along the walls. Had they been there the entire time?

“Escort them out,” Abelas commanded.

Looking one more time to her friends, Ellya nodded and tried to give them the most reassuring look she could. It could very well be the last time she saw any of them, if Abelas couldn’t help her, and that female elf hadn’t seemed sure he could, but she didn’t want to dwell on the morose. So, she waved and watched them go, her three closest friends and allies as they disappeared through the arched doorway and into the black shadows of the hall.

“Come,” Abelas said, breaking her gaze away from the door.

Her task finally at hand, Ellya tried to ignore the pounding between her temples as she gripped her staff and stepped forward to stand at his side.

With a small wave of Abelas’ hand, a gentle tremor of magic passed through the air revealing a break in the wall.

“This way.”

As she followed the three elves through, she finally let go of a fraction of the tension that had been steadily coiling in her stomach.

Hopefully, she was not too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations (these are my own and may not line up with canon as it comes out or with anyone else's interpretations):
> 
> Da'Vir: Little Path
> 
> Banal'len: Child of Nothing
> 
> Banalvhen: People of Nothing


	2. Chapter 2

The door shut almost immediately as Ellya stepped through to the narrow hallway, cutting the circular room off from her view and surrounding her in darkness. The sentinels pushed ahead without hesitation. Wringing her hands around her staff, Ellya had little choice but to follow. 

There were no torches lining this space, just the dim, white light cast out by the tip of the elven woman's staff, as Ellya's feet scraped along in the grit of the stone beneath her boots, her pace unsure and testing the dark path with each step. The air was stale, unused, and she could almost taste the earthen clay packed tightly above her head. A wet, dripping patter of water and a low rumble punctuated the silence of the group, growing steadily louder as they ventured further down the hall.

Curving around a bend in the path and passing through an arched doorway, Ellya stopped short at the sight that greeted her.

The room before her was large, with a high, domed ceiling and a sunken floor at its center that surrounded a small pedestal. Three of the walls were beautifully painted with another meandering, scenic mural: a stylized imitation of the surrounding forest. The fourth wall, though, that was what she inched toward, away from her sentinel guides and deeper into the room. The fourth wall was not a wall at all, but rather a series of tall columns and an ivory balustrade. Just beyond, a sheet of water roared and flowed rapidly downwards, churning and spraying a fine mist into the air.

Ellya took another step closer to the railing and peered out. The water blocked most of the view, but she could just make out the forms of trees and a lush valley, aglow in the burnt orange light of the twilight sun.

Weren't they underground? She turned to the elves in confusion.

“Come along,” Abelas commanded, not allowing a moment for her to voice her query.

Ellya followed the elves through a green tile-lined archway into a long, rectangular room. A warm, red fire crackled in the hearth at its center, surrounded by benches and chairs and filling the room with a sweet smelling smoke. Along the walls were several, wooden doors, each carved with intricate patterns and lacquered to a high sheen. 

Tamael departed then, heading to the left and entering one of the doors along the wall and disappearing from sight without so much as a backward glance or a parting word. 

Leading her to a door along the right, Abelas turned to her.

“You may retire here while you remain with us," he said as he pushed on the handle and let the door swing open, revealing a small bedchamber on the other side. 

Ellya stepped through slowly.

“You will be collected at daybreak,” Abelas continued. "I suggest you get sufficient rest. Our task will not be an easy one."

Before Ellya could offer a word of thanks or a gesture of affirmation, Abelas and the female elf were gone, the door closed swiftly in their wake. 

Ellya chewed on her bottom lip as she glanced around the small room. It was cozy, even if sparsely decorated. A wooden bed was pushed against the far wall, tucked beneath a depiction of a constellation she didn’t recognize. To her right stood a desk with a wash basin, and to her left a lattice screen draped with blue cloth.

Shifting her weight, she was a bit at a loss for what to do now that her journey had come to an end. She hadn't expected, if she were to find the elves, to be immediately plunked down in accommodations and left in solitude.

With a sigh, Ellya walked to the wash basin. A bath would have been preferable after so much time spent traveling the wilds of Thedas, but she would make due. Rolling her shoulders, she unlatched the clasps of her outer robes and shrugged them off, before pulling the chain shirt off her head with a groan. It was a blissful relief after spending a long day on Da’Vir, sweltering in the humidity of the forest.

Placing her chain shirt on the table, Ellya picked up the available cloth and dipped it into the cool water. She sighed in pleasure as she ran the wet material over her brow and across the nape of her neck. After allowing herself a few moments of indulgence, rewetting the cloth and bringing it across the top of her chest and down her arms, Ellya turned away from the basin and walked towards the small bed.

She had just sat along the edge and begun to unlace the back of her boots, when a soft knocking sounded on her door.

“Come in,” Ellya said after a moment of confused hesitation, her hand automatically reaching out to grip her staff. 

With a gentle creak, the door swung open, revealing the female elf that had helped Abelas lead her through the temple. Ellya’s eyebrows rose in surprise. In one hand was her gnarled staff, but in the other was a steaming mug of liquid.

Shuffling forward, she kicked the door closed with her heel and moved to the side of Ellya’s bed. Ellya watched silently as the sentinel leaned her staff against the wall and gripped the mug with both hands. Without a word, the elf pushed it at Ellya in offering. 

“What is it?” Ellya asked, leaning away from the beverage and eyeing the steam.

“Do not act so offended, da’len.” The elf moved to sit down on the bed beside her, pushing the mug forward once more. “It's simply a tonic for your head.”

Shifting, Ellya darted her gaze between the elf and the cup before taking the beverage in her hands. She drew in a deep breath through her nose, letting the sharp and bitter smell of the steam linger in her nostrils, but did not drink.

“You’ll have to forgive me for being cautious,” Ellya said, lifting a finger to trace the tender wound across her cheek.

The sentinel woman cackled. “Tamael’s manners may be rough, but he has cause,” she said and gently nodded her head towards Ellya’s hands. “Drink, da’len. It's only a temporary solution, but your dreams should be silent under its influence.”

The thought of having even a moment’s respite from the onslaught against her mind proved too strong a temptation. Pushing her reservations away, Ellya brought her lips to the edge of the mug. Tipping her head down, she blew across the hot surface and tested the drink with a sip. It was earthy and strong, not unlike the elfroot tea she favored at Skyhold. Settling back against the headboard of her bed, Ellya continued to drink and felt a soothing warmth begin to spread across her limbs and mind.

The sentinel woman watched carefully as Ellya drank, like some doting hahren making sure she finished every last drop. The thought made Ellya smile against the rim of the mug.

“You seem familiar to me,” Ellya said suddenly, squinting her eyes and taking in the elf’s features more closely. 

The elven woman's lips twitched, as she pushed back her hood and settled it around her shoulders. Her dark hair was pulled back into a single, long braid, a few wisps curling loosely around her slender ears, and her large, wide-set brown eyes were framed with a vallaslin of deep, emerald green. The fine lines around her eyes and lips made her look older, but she was still undeniably beautiful.

“I should think so,” the elven woman said. “I did ensure your safe passage through Mythal’s Temple.”

Ellya’s eyes widened.

“You were our guide?” 

She looked over the elven woman again. Of course. The gnarled staff, the slightly stooped gait, she had seen them before, followed them down the halls to the courtyard holding the Vir’Abelasan. All that was missing was the very large tome she had hefted along at her side. 

Ellya drained the last of her drink and cleared her throat.

“Thank you,” she finally said. “We would not have made it so far without you, and I was relieved that we didn’t have to resort to violence to pass through your halls." She paused, a wrinkle forming between her brows. "I didn’t even get a chance to ask your name.”

The elven woman chuckled. “Some of us have taken new names upon entering Mythal’s service,” she said with a wistful smile, “but you may call me Ishala."

“I’m Ellya…” she hesitated, "...of clan Lavellan.” 

Ishala's gaze softened and a kind look of understanding passed across her face. Slowly, she stood and plucked the empty mug from Ellya’s hands.

“Sleep now, da’len,” she said. “You will need your strength.”

Taking her staff in hand, Ishala walked to the door and left without a further word.

After she finished removing her boots, Ellya settled down into the warm comfort of the bed and sighed. She had finally reached her destination and stood at the precipice of knowing whether or not the power of the Well could be hers to control. Sleep should have been elusive. Excitement and anxiety should have gripped at her too strongly. Even fear of the dangerous elf, Tamael, should have unsettled her nerves. For the first time in months, though, Ellya was able to close her eyes and go purposefully and peacefully into slumber.

When she woke the next morning, it was not with a startle, a gasping grip towards her own consciousness, but with a slow, meandering awareness, a languid stretch of her body and deep, comforting intake of breath.

Opening her eyes slowly, Ellya smiled. Rest. Even with the slight, everpresent pounding at her temples, she could not remember the last time she had felt so rejuvenated after a night’s sleep. Her body felt strong and her mind renewed. Almost instantly, though, her smiled slipped into a sad frown. Unfortunately, she could remember the last time. The memories were tainted now, but mornings spent wrapped in strong arms and nights spent wandering the Fade were the last in which she could recall feeling truly at peace. 

“Did Ishala’s tonic not work?”

Ellya sat up with a startled jerk upon hearing the voice in her room. Clutching the blanket across her chest, she turned towards the entrance. The wooden door was closed, but standing in front of it was another female elf, this one unfamiliar. She wore the usual sentinel armor and had a bow strapped along her back, but she looked younger than the others she had met, like an eager hunter not long from the ceremony that bestowed the red vallaslin curved around her high cheekbones, even if Ellya knew that to be a lie.

Shaking her head to clear her shock at the elf’s sudden appearance, Ellya swung her legs over the side of her bed and stood.

“It did,” Ellya said warily, eyeing the elf and feeling ill-at-ease with the intrusion.

“Oh,” the elven woman replied, stepping forward and sitting on Ellya’s bed, “you were frowning. I thought maybe you were still having trouble.”

Foregoing her chain shirt, Ellya clasped her robe around her waist and slid her arms into its sleeves. Exactly how many sentinel elves were there? And had Abelas and Ishala, or even Tamael, shared her predicament with all of them?

“I was thinking of other things,” she replied evasively. She would not let the dull ache in her heart and thoughts of lost love impede any progress she made with the power of the Well. 

Turning, Ellya threw a quick splash of water across her face and then shifted her gaze towards the elf. 

“I’m Halani, by the way,” the sentinel said, standing and bouncing on her heels with a wide smile.

“Ellya.” She nodded her head in a light greeting, still a bit put out by the other woman’s abrupt entrance into her room.

“I brought your things,” Halani said, clearly not troubled by Ellya’s less than accommodating mood. 

Raising her arm, Halani gestured to the folded lattice on the far side of the room. There, in the corner, was Ellya’s saddlebag. She felt her heart warm at the sight.

“Your...companions...insisted I return with it,” Halani continued. “They are an interesting group.”

Ellya smiled and felt her spirit lighten. “Yes,” she said, her tone full of fondness, “we have been through a lot together.”

Halani looked at her curiously, but did not press her on her meaning. Instead, she walked to the door and pulled it open. “Come on, “she said, sweeping her arm towards the room beyond, “ Abelas and Ishala are waiting for you.”

Ellya followed Halani out of the room and down another long corridor, deeper into the temple. When they reached the end, only a lone, wooden door remained. Halani dipped her head and gestured for Ellya to proceed. 

Tentatively, Ellya raised a hand and pushed it open. Stepping past the threshold, Ellya found herself in a small, round chamber, much like the one where she had first encountered Tamael. Columns and more murals lined the wall, but instead of a low altar at its center, a shallow pool shimmered in the veilfire torchlight. 

Abelas and Ishala stood not far from the edge of the pool, watching her intently as she entered. They had removed their usual black and gold armor, dressed instead in long layers of blue robes. It was a startling contrast to witness. They no longer looked so ancient and ethereal, Ishala barefooted and Abelas with his white hair pulled back into a slick knot, but rather like any other Dalish she had met in her life, two hahren waiting to impart an important lesson.

“Please shut the door and sit by the water,” Ishala said, walking along the edge of the circular pool.

Feeling her heart flutter and speed, Ellya swung the door closed and made her way quietly forward. As she looked back and forth between the two elves, Ellya lowered herself to her knees and tucked her legs beneath her body.

“Before we can begin,” Abelas said while walking a slow circle around the room, his form passing in and out of the flickering shadows, “you must know the origins of the power you now possess.”

Kneeling across from her, Abelas produced a soft, blue flame in the palm of his hand. Ellya watched, transfixed, as its delicate light reflected off the surface of the water. Slowly, Abelas blew across his hand, allowing the blue flame to spread. It trickled forward, covering the pool with a hazy fog.

“In the time of the Elvhen, before the shemlen invaded our lands,” he continued, “death and sickness did not exist. Only the sweet surrender of uthenera. There was no need to preserve, for we always were.”

A flick of his wrist, and an inky shadow crept and stalked along the edges of the fog, pushing experimentally towards the center, as if testing and waiting for a weakness to appear.

“However, with the shemlen came their plague of mortality. For the first time, our lives were finite.”

Ellya stared as the shadow started to consume the fog, destroying the beautiful sheen and turning the water opaque and its reflection dull.

“That was when Mythal created the Vir’Abelasan,” Abelas continued, producing another, smaller, blue flame in the palm of his hand. It floated slowly downward, towards the center of the pool. “She knew the knowledge of our people needed to be protected, lest it be lost to the will of time.”

Ishala dipped her finger into the water. Another light spread from her towards the small flame at the center. Soon, several small dots of flame appeared along the edges of the pool, inching ever closer to the middle and allowing the blue flame to grow steadily larger.

“Mythal chose thousands of Elvhen, from the furthest corners of Elvhenan, to pour their knowledge and memories into the Vir’Abelasan,” Abeas said, standing and walking around the pool once more. “Each new servant became connected to the Vir’Abelasan, and once they reached the end of their life, their memories and experiences were transferred, forever safeguarded within its depths.”

Kneeling down at her side, Abelas peered into Ellya’s eyes. Slowly, he raised his hand and pressed a gentle finger against her brow.

“You hold them within you now,” he said quietly, his tone solemn. “Thousands of lives with thousands of years of memories. Their collective experience at your disposal.”

Ellya shuddered, shrinking away from Abelas’ touch. It was as if she could feel each person inside her head at once, thousands of them pushing against her skull and trying to break free.

Pulling away, Abelas settled back on his heels and glanced at Ishala.

“We’ll use our connection to the Vir’Abelasan to augment your abilities,” the elven woman said, sitting down on Ellya’s other side, opposite Abelas. “We’ll attempt to assess your state, but we must remain at a cautious distance. The spells that we’ll be using are the same that pull our own memories into the Well. To venture too deep with you would risk losing ourselves in the process.”

Ellya opened her mouth in shock, unable to blink as she stared between the two elves. 

 

“You would take such a risk? Just to help me?” she whispered.

“Some believe our duty ended when you partook of the Vir’Abelasan,” Abelas said, sharing another look with Ishala, “but we are bound, as you are bound. If you cannot use your knowledge as Mythal intended, then our oath is not yet fulfilled.”

Ellya nodded. It wasn’t about her at all, then. She understood, of course. Responsibility was a concept she had become all too familiar with in her years. If the sentinels could help her, it did not matter much their motivation.

“Then I will do all that I can in return,” she said clearly, straightening her back and resolving herself to whatever process she was about to undergo.

“Let us hope that is true,” Abelas said cryptically, causing a small fluttering of nerves to creep into Ellya’s belly and fracture her bravado.

“Please lay down, da’len,” Ishala said, shifting away from Ellya and gesturing to the tiled floor. “Your feet towards me and your head towards Abelas.”

Doing as the elven woman asked, Ellya spread onto her back against the cool tile. Her breathing hitched and her stomach twisted, as she felt Ishala slip the boots from her legs and place Ellya's bare feet across her lap. 

“We will ground you, and attempt to help you slip into a memory. Close your eyes and let your mind drift,” Abelas said softly, coming to kneel behind her, the front of his knees flanking the sides of her head.

Letting her eyelids flutter shut, Ellya heard a soft splash of water. In the next moment, she felt Ishala’s wet hands slide easily down her shins and massage the top of her feet, the sensation loosening the knots in her stomach and causing Ellya to let out a deep sigh. Three soft drops of water landed on her forehead, before she felt Abelas’ strong fingers stroke and smooth them across her brow. He trailed them down the bridge of her nose and under her eyes, until they came to rest at her temples. The slow, rhythmic circles of his touch felt like a balm against the ache of her head. Her lips parted and her body began to feel heavy, each muscle relaxing inch by inch, as the tendrils of magic worked against her form. Letting out a soft groan, Ellya felt herself begin to slip away.

***

_The cart rumbled beneath her, its wooden wheels clacking noisily against the stone paved streets. She could smell the sweet, honeyed treats in the air. The fresh breads and butchered meats, the cheeses and spiced wines, and even the fresh cut wildflowers added to the smells wafting across the city._

_Arlathan. The capital. The pinnacle of Elvhenan with its spiraling, crystal towers and floating palaces, with its wandering spirits and high noble houses._

_None of it was for her._

_No, there would be no fine foods and clothing, no fancy balls or playing in the festival streets. For her, there was only one destination: the slave market._

_She was assured it would be different this time. A different master with different preferences. No more beatings. No more submitting at night. Arlathan was supposed to offer a better chance and a new beginning, but she knew the truth. There was nowhere to go in this world that would change her worth. She would always be no more than the strength of her body and the allure of spreading her legs, no purpose beyond the whims and desires of those more fortunate._

_The cart rattled to a halt, and she looked around. Elves crowded the busy square, some barefaced and in finery. Others stood on platforms, stripped of all but the cruel marks across their face and the cuffs around their ankles, their status clear for all to see._

_She stumbled as she exited the cart, her feet barely catching her as they hit the gravelled path. Almost instantly, hands came out to touch her. Fingers pulled her at her hair. Hands grabbed at her limbs, raising them high and inspecting every inch in callous scrutiny._

_“Back off! You’ll get your thirty seconds,” a gruff voice said behind her: the market master, there to ensure the organization of barbarity. She bit her tongue as his hand slid down the skin of her back, pushing her forward in line with all the others._

***

A sharp pain woke Ellya, spiking at the front of her skull and gripping her head as if in a vice. It faded quickly, though, and reduced to the throbbing ache to which she had become so accustomed.

“She emerges.” It was Ishala’s voice that reached her ears, a soft whisper that brought Ellya’s awareness into focus.

Taking in a ragged breath, Ellya opened her eyes and tried to sit up, but firm hands gripped her shoulders and held her down.

“Not yet.” That was Abelas. His breath was heavy and his forehead beaded with sweat, as he leaned over her.

Ellya shifted her gaze downward to Ishala. She was in a similar state, slightly hunched and drawing in deep, labored breaths through her nose.

"What did you see?" Abelas asked, his fingers loosening from her shoulders to splay across his knees.

Ellya searched her thoughts, as she she had so often done when the visions had started to become more and more frequent, anything to try to remember where she had gone. This time was different, though. There were no lingering sensations, no traces of smells or phantom touches, just the painful jolt across her head. 

"I don't know," she responded with a frown, her eyes shifting and unfocused as she stared towards the dark ceiling. "I can't remember."

Nothing followed her words but silence, a thick cloak of uncertainty blanketing the room. With barely a glance in her direction, Abelas and Ishala slowly stood and made their way across the small space and into the shadows on the far side of the pool. 

Groaning, Ellya pushed herself to a seated position and hung her head between her knees. After a night of blissful relief, the renewed throbbing seemed stronger and made her head feel as if pulled down by a heavy weight. 

Rolling her neck, Ellya rested her cheek on her knee and looked towards the two elves. They were huddled closely together and speaking quietly, just out of range of her hearing. But even with their backs turned towards her, Ellya could sense their mood. Their rigid posture, the tight movements of their arms, and the darting looks they cast her way: something wasn’t right. 

Ellya felt her chest constrict. Had she been correct in her fear that she was dying?

Willing her sore limbs to move, Ellya pushed to her feet. As if sensing her distress, Abelas turned to face her, his brow knotted and his arms crossed. 

"We cannot help you," he said, causing Ellya's mouth to part and a quick exhale of air to escape her lips. 

He held up a hand. 

"We cannot help you, if you will not submit," he continued, as if his meaning had suddenly become clear.

Ellya could do nothing but stare at the elven man. Had she not already submitted by drinking in the first place, by allowing her entire being into the service of Mythal? Had she not already submitted by laying on her back and trusting them, two practical strangers, to assault her body with their spell? Her tongue felt awkward in her mouth and all words she could possibly think to say felt stuck in her throat. 

Abelas shifted his gaze to Ishala and dipped his head. The elven woman walked to Ellya's side and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. 

"We’ll try again tomorrow," she said kindly, though Ellya could hear the uncertainty in her tone. "It’s well past midday. Let’s find some nourishment and replenish our strength."

With a slight push on Ellya's shoulder, Ishala turned her towards the door and made to lead her out. 

Her thoughts churning, Ellya glanced over her shoulder as she walked out of the circular room. Abelas stood quietly, his lips pursed and his jaw tense, while one hand stroked his chin in contemplation and the other’s fingers twitched relentlessly as they rested at his hip. Eyes glazed, he stared intently at the pool on the floor.

Ellya’s heart stuttered as she took in the sight of his agitation. Whatever had gone wrong, a bitter realization became clear: there would be no answers here, only more questions.


	3. Chapter 3

Three Days. It had been three days since she had arrived, and still she had made no progress. Each morning Ellya walked to the ritual chamber and allowed Abelas and Ishala to perform their spells, and each time she could remember nothing. The tonics Ishala gave her did help with her sleep and kept the unintended visions at bay, but they didn’t help much with her headaches. Every time she woke from a memory, the pain reared to life as if provoked.

Her afternoons had been spent mostly in solitude, wandering the temple as she pleased. She rarely saw any other elves, just glimpses of unfamiliar faces as they ducked down hallways or into secret rooms. They must have been avoiding her on purpose, either out of fear or by order. She didn’t know, but as such, the grounds remained mostly silent. She did speak with Halani briefly in the mornings, when she was sent to fetch her for Abelas and Ishala, but the conversations were short and mostly consisted of passing pleasantries. It made her feel intensely lonely, and long for the crowded and noisy halls of Skyhold, or even the days of past when she could share a fire with her long-gone friends of Clan Lavellan. 

Memories of friendship turned Ellya’s thoughts to her companions: Varric, Dorian, and Bull. She wondered if they had traveled back towards Skyhold yet or were still waiting and hoping for her return. She knew they were afraid for her well-being among so many volatile unknowns and probably questioned her rash decision to remain with the sentinel elves alone. Undoubtedly, they would come looking for her if too much time passed, though, but she didn't want to think about the shell of a person they might possibly find in her place if her lessons continued to be unsuccessful. 

Ellya leaned over her bedroom table and swallowed a mouthful of water, before wiping her hand across her brow. She had just finished another failed attempt with Abelas and Ishala and had retired to her room to seek some rest. Dried sweat across her face and body left her skin sticky and caused her hair to matte. Even the dust and smell of stagnant air from the old temple clung relentlessly to her form. The sessions were draining. She didn’t know where she went inside her mind or what she saw, but it left her body feeling weak.

She pushed away from the table with a groan. Staying cooped up below ground was doing her no good. It only added to her growing claustrophobia and frustration.

Exiting her room, Ellya made her way towards the grand, main chamber, hoping to breathe in the fresh air along the open wall and glimpse some much-needed sunlight.

It didn’t take her long to reach her destination. The temple was beautiful and comfortable, but small in comparison to the Temples of Mythal or Dirthamen. When the smell of dried leaves and wet soil reached her nose, she took in a deep breath. Instantly, she felt more relaxed and lessened her pace so she could stroll leisurely around the room. 

Wandering along the painted walls, Ellya took in the details of the mural: small packs of monkeys, flowers in full bloom, and ill-defined figures wafting between the trees. All of them glistened and sagged as if affected by an intense, muggy heat. As she continued her stroll, her smile grew. A thin mist was painted across the forest floor, the rays of sunlight spilling through the thick canopy and illuminating the haze. The figure at its center, though, caught her attention. It was a lone wolf, another reminder of the temple’s dedicated deity, standing tall and strong at the top of a hill and looking over the forest with pride. 

Ellya moved closer and brought her fingers up to rest against the grey, painted fur. Her eyes narrowed and she skimmed her tongue along her teeth in thought. This was not a deceiving creature, hiding in the shadows and prowling for prey. It was not even a mad one, driven so by the hunger and greed for chaos. No, this was a protector gazing out upon the world with a fierce loyalty, as a guard ensuring the safety of its land. Her hand fell limply to her side. The dissonance between what she had learned in her youth and what lay before her eyes was profound.

Ellya sighed and lowered her gaze. Turning, she made her way across the room and trailed her palm across the empty pedestal as she passed, until she was leaning against the balustrade. The water was close enough to reach out and touch if she so desired. Ishala had explained that the temple, long ago devoted to Fen’Harel, had been carved into the face of a cliff and hidden from view by the falls. The only entrance was the one which Ellya and her companions had originally found. 

The soft patter of footsteps turned Ellya’s attention back towards the room. Glancing over her shoulder, she felt the corner of her mouth pull up slightly in bemusement. Halani was approaching, her face lit up with a grin, as she practically skipped to Ellya’s side.

“Finally!” The elf exclaimed, moving in beside Ellya and settling her hip against the balustrade.

Ellya quirked an eyebrow at her. Halani’s manner was so exuberant, and her liveliness impossibly infectious. They exchanged tentative smiles, and Ellya couldn’t help but relax, despite the fact that the woman before her was no more than a stranger. 

“Finally?” Ellya prompted.

Halani leaned in close and glanced around mischievously.

“I’ve been wanting to speak with you ever since you arrived,” she said in a low tone, “but Abelas and Ishala have kept you busy in the mornings, and Tamael has been sending Arlassan and I away until dark.” Halani pulled back and shrugged. “I don’t think he likes the idea of us asking you too many questions.”

“Who's Arlassan?” Ellya cocked her head and looked around the room, as if the subject of her query would magically appear.

“Oh, right!” Halani chuckled. “He’s my friend. Well, my bonded mate too. I forgot that you haven’t met him yet.” She narrowed her eyes at Ellya and bit her lip. “He’s also Tamael’s son.”

Ellya’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “And does he share Tamael’s more...charming...attributes?” Another antagonistic elf was the last thing she needed. 

Halani let out a hearty laugh and collapsed further against the marble of the railing.

“You probably didn’t get the best first impression of him,” she began after her laughter subsided, “but Tamael is someone I greatly admire. He and the other elders have guided us as safely as possible through the centuries, sometimes only through the strength of their conviction.” She paused and looked away towards the waterfall, a forlorn look coming over her pretty features. “It may seem strange to you, but through our endurance we’ve become a family.”

Ellya nodded and felt a small pit of sadness form in her chest. She knew the feelings Halani described well. Clan Lavellan, though not her birth clan, had been her home for as long as she could remember. Their shared hardships had only strengthened their bonds of love, bonds that would forever hold strong in her heart despite her clan’s now-permanent absence.

“It’s not strange at all,” Ellya said quietly, causing Halani to turn and eye her once more.

A brief silence stretched between them, a glimpse of commonality passing between two people separated by centuries of experience, but Halani's expression quickly reverted back to one of conspiratory glee.

“Do you want to see something special?” Halani’s fingers gripped the wet stone of the banister and twitched in excitement.

“Yes, of course,” Ellya answered, curious.

Halani pushed away from the balustrade with a soft laugh and hooked her arm around Ellya’s. Quickly, she pulled Ellya along, bypassing the archway to the living quarters, and weaved down a narrow hallway partially hidden from view by the columns flanking the waterfall. 

Within moments, they had reached a circular stairwell which appeared to wind deep into the earth. Letting go of Ellya’s arm, Halani pushed on ahead. Ellya followed cautiously, her hands pressed into the tiled walls to steady her pace. As she made her way down the curving stairs, she could hear the trickling sound of water echoing across walls, not roaring like the waterfall, but rather soft and calming, like the gentle flow of a mountain stream.

Halani paused briefly to glance back at Ellya, as she reached the bottom step. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” She swept her arm in a large arc and gestured to the room.

Ellya stepped to the lowered floor and paused to take in the scene around her. The cavern wasn’t large, but it was, indeed, quite beautiful. At its center was a large pool, its water trickling in from a break in the wall. It was irregular in shape, obviously molded to the natural lines of the rock, with a network of pillars that spiralled up from the bottom of the pool to the vaulted ceiling. The entire space was tiled in a swirling mosaic of jade and illuminated by the flickering light of the veilfire torches that lined the walls.

Ellya stepped near the pool and bent to let her fingers dip into the cool water.

“The temple baths,” Halani said as a means of explanation, her eyes bright as she walked around the perimeter. “Created for the priests or to be used in the cleansing rituals.” She crouched next to the water and looked at the surface wistfully. “It’s a small one, but it’s one of the only luxuries we're allowed.”

Ellya’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” She stood and made her way to Halani’’s side.

“I mean that with the Vir’Abelasan and our home both gone, we’re kind of just wandering aimlessly.” She jerked her head towards the water once more. “I know it may seem silly, but small pleasures like this are a nice reprieve from the uncertainty of our lives. It’s one of the first places Abelas and Tamael cleaned and restored when we arrived here. I think they knew we needed something more...personal...after centuries of fighting. Something to ease our spirits.”

Ellya remained silent, unsure of what to say. 

Halani broke the tension with a chuckle. “Anyway, I brought you down here, because I thought you might like to get cleaned up,” she said, clearly struggling to maintain a straight face. “No offense, but you look terrible and you kind of smell.” With a grin, she quickly swooped down and splashed a handful of water towards Ellya’s face.

For the first time in months, Ellya laughed freely. Feeling an impishness creep into her heart, she bent down to sweep her hand across the surface of the water and returned Halani’s gesture with a splash of her own. 

Halani stood with a low chuckle and started to undress, stripping her armor from her form until she was clad in only her smallclothes. She dropped her belongings to the floor with a clang and jumped high into the air. With a loud squeal, she entered the water and produced a cresting wave around her balled form.

Ellya couldn’t help but smirk, as she watched Halani break the surface again and turn to beckon her in. One by one, she undid the clasps on her robe and removed her boots, before sliding them down her body. When she too was in nothing but her smalls, Ellya stepped to the edge of the pool and bent to slip gracefully into the water.

The coolness felt wonderful around her form as she submerged. Almost instantly, her sore muscles eased under the feeling of weightlessness and the gentle pull of the current. The whooshing isolation of being surrounded by nothing but water relaxed and soothed her like nothing had in a long while. After allowing herself a moment to enjoy the tranquility, Ellya kicked off the bottom of the pool and rose to the surface. 

“See?” Halani said, as she swam circles around her with long strokes of her slender arms.

Ellya shifted until she was floating on her back and let the current take her gently towards the other end of the room.

“Yes,” she said, her voice lilting higher with her rising glee, “this feels wonderful. Invigorating in light of everything else. I can see why you treasure it.”

Turning her body to tread water, Ellya watched as Halani dove briefly beneath the surface once more and emerged with a blissful grin across her face. A bittersweet feeling fell over Ellya as she looked at her. She could see so much of her childhood friends in Halani, could remember the times back in the wilds when she was free from the responsibilities of sole leadership and the terrors brought about by the Inquisition. It warmed her and urged her to release a portion of her caution and open herself to the potential of companionship.

With a content sigh, Ellya settled her arms across the edge of the pool and let her legs sway freely in the cool water. “Why are you here, Halani?” she asked. “In a temple to Fen'Harel?”

Quirking a brow, Halani swam to Ellya’s side and settled against the edge of the pool herself. “That’s a strange question,” she said, her tone one of bemusement.

Ellya cocked her head. “Is it?” She looked around and tried to think of the best way to explain her position on the duplicitous deity. “My people fear Fen'Harel,” she began slowly. “The legends say he is a devious trickster. That he abhors kindness and wisdom, and lurks in the shadows to devour those that are lead astray. It's believed he betrayed the gods, and did so gleefully for his own selfish purposes."

A loud barking laugh greeted her explanation, causing Ellya to turn sharply to Halani and stare.

“Maybe they’re right to fear that kind of creature, and all the gods should be feared,” Halani said and leaned her chin against the stone floor, “but that doesn’t sound like Fen’Harel to me. He wasn’t always liked, from what I know, but at least those devoted to Mythal would never believe those kind of things about him.” She paused and side-eyed Ellya with a slight frown. “Others may say differently.”

Ellya let out a small snort of air through her nose. Of course. Another Dalish blunder of belief. Her stomach twisted at the thought of how many she had discovered. 

Halani’s hand on her arm brought Ellya’s attention back to the her. “I'm probably not the best person to set you straight. That's what they're for.” Halani shifted and briefly poked a fingertip to the center of Ellya’s brow. “I was born after the gods left this world, during Arlathan's fall to the shemlens. Most of my life has been spent serving in Mythal's temple." She paused and bit her lip, her face twisted in concentration. “But I do know that Mythal and Fen'Harel were often considered in tandem, at least in recent history.” She let out a soft breath and nudged Ellya with her shoulder. “Um, recent to me.” 

Moving closer, Halani grinned and leaned in, like she was about to divulge the most salacious gossip. “They were friends and allies most likely, but some even say they were lovers. That that was why he took such drastic actions after her murder, as some sort of personal vengeance.”

Now that was an intriguing thought. Ellya turned her gaze away. “You don’t know the truth of matters?” she asked curiously. 

With a shrug, Halani inched away and crossed her arms over the stone floor. “No, the elders don't speak of it. It saddens them too much I think. They would rather forget and wait to leave their pain within the Well.” She chuckled again and shifted her eyes back to Ellya. “Within you now, I guess.” 

Ellya snorted. “That's not exactly comforting,” she murmured with a grimace, “the thought of more people up there.”

Halani smiled kindly. “Abelas will steer you right.”

“Are you so sure?" Ellya absently traced her fingers along the small jade stones beneath her palms. "Even he and Ishala don’t seem to think they can be of much help to me."

“Abelas wouldn’t have offered to help if he didn’t think there was a chance he’d succeed,” she replied, her voice assured and full of conviction. “He will do everything he can. He won’t give up.”

Turning her full attention to Halani, Ellya knitted her brow and looked her up and down in wonder. "You seem fond of him,” she said with a half smile.

Halani sent another small splash of water in Ellya’s direction. “I am! I've known him my whole life. He took my parents in, offered them sanctuary during the war. He made sure I was cared for after their deaths.” She glanced over at Ellya once more. “My parents died fighting when I was very young, against some of our very first attackers, those remnants of the warring factions. I don't remember much of my parents, but Abelas has ensured we stay strong. That we never fall and can uphold Mythal's will. He has dedicated his life to serving Mythal and protecting the Vir’Abelasan, and the people in his care.”

Ellya felt her face soften. She knew the burden of leadership and the fear that accompanied failure, but she could also relate well to Halani’s tale and why she felt so strongly for Abelas and the other sentinels. It was not unlike how she had felt about Keeper Deshanna and Master Senarel, and the other members of Clan Lavellan.

Ellya reached out a tentative hand to settle it over Halani’s. “My parents died when I was child too. It was the clan elders who raised me."

Halani's eyes widened. Moving closer once again, she gripped Ellya’s hand tighter. 

“Will you tell me about them?” she asked, her tone hurried and hushed. “These new elves. Tamael only speaks down about your ways, and Abelas and Ishala keep us to the shadows while we travel. The only things I know are from brief glimpses in the Fade, and those are just fractions of memories. I want to know the truth.”

“What would you like to know?” Ellya asked, somewhat startled that an ancient elf would want to know about _her_ kind. 

Halani settled against the side of the pool and bit her lip, her eyes racing and back and forth.

“Oh!” She reached out and trailed her finger across Ellya’s face. “You wear vallaslin. Are you still dedicated to the gods by your masters?”

Ellya grit her teeth and felt her jaw harden. Why did she have to ask about the vallaslin? Of all subjects, she wanted to know more about one that held so many conflicting emotions and tainted memories.

“They mean something different now,” Ellya said, guarded. “I know in your time, they were slave markings of a sort, but for us, the Dalish, they are a symbol to honor the creators. They mark us as having an affinity for the ideals the gods represent. We receive them as part of a coming of age ritual, an induction to full membership in our clans.”

Halani leaned forward and narrowed her eyes to exam Ellya’s face, as if looking for something different or off about the writing across her skin.

“But, now that I know the truth,” Ellya hurried on and shifted slightly away from the other elf, “I’m not sure I can keep them. I was shown the spell to remove them, but…”

Halani’s brow furrowed. “But if they are important to your people, why would you want to get rid of them?”

Ellya opened her mouth, unsure of how to answer the question. It all felt too murky for her, a gut reaction to the notion of slavery and the Dalish idea of upholding the truth of the past.

“It’s complicated,” she finally settled on saying.

Seeming to sense Ellya’s reluctance to speak more about the vallaslin, Halani changed subjects. “What about your connection to the land of spirits? Can you commune with them?" 

Ellya relaxed slightly. Speaking of magic and spirits was a subject with which she was infinitely more comfortable. “Only in special rituals and in dreams,” she answered, once again trailing her fingers along the jade stones. She squinted her eyes and realized for the first time how much they resembled the flashing green colors of the Fade rifts. How appropriate. “Some more lucidly than others,” she continued, “though I hear it was common in your time.” 

“Yes,” Halani said eagerly. Her eyebrows raised and her form bobbed up and down in the water. "That was how Arlassan and I met, actually. He's a dreamer. Do you know what those are?” She paused until Ellya gave her a nod. “He sought me out in those brief moments when we were awake. Courted me by showing me his dreams and shaping the Fade to take me away from the temple and all our duty.” Halani smiled wistfully and her eyes glazed as if her mind was far away. “I hear it was a very romantic practice in the glory days of Elvhenan,” she finished quietly.

Ellya felt her heart lurch at the description. What Halani described was exactly as Solas had done. True, she had been the one to initially ask about sharing dreams, but once they had started, Solas had not shied away from creating the beautiful landscapes and memories he knew she would most cherish.

“Truly?” Ellya asked quietly. She could feel the hoarseness of her voice and the tight clench of her stomach, both inevitable reactions to thoughts of Solas and their accompanying wave of raw emotions. 

The sound of footsteps interrupted their conversation. Abelas appeared not a moment later, walking around the corner of one of the tall columns.

"Halani." He raised a single eyebrow at her, his tone one of greeting but also of chiding.

“Abelas." Halani dipped her head slightly in deference. 

“Tamael is looking for you,” Abelas continued and nodded towards the entrance to the cavern. “I suggest you not attempt to evade him any longer.”

Giving Ellya a small smile, Halani dove beneath the water and swam towards the other end of the pool to retrieve her things.

Ellya shifted her gaze and looked back to Abelas. He was once again out of the sentinel armor and dressed in the blue robes he had been wearing for their sessions. However, now his tunic was open and draped loosely over his shoulders, leaving the center of his chest bare and displaying hints of an extended vallaslin that curled along his collarbones and disappeared beneath his sleeves. His hair, too, was worn more casually, down as it was from his usual braid or bun and falling in long layers down his back. It made him look familiar and inviting, like he could be her falon, a potential comrade as Halani wished to be.

Ellya brought her eyes up to meet his. “Were you looking to bathe?” She suddenly realized that perhaps she was impinging on a luxury of his own.

Abelas shifted his gaze between her and the surrounding pool, a crease between his brows. “I will return later,” he said after a brief silence. 

“No!” Ellya blurted out, though immediately felt self-conscious under Abelas' penetrating stare. Despite the warmth along her cheeks, she shook off her discomfort and continued, "No, it's all right. I need to return to my room and eat some food. And it's probably best I be there when Ishala arrives with her tonic.” She gave him a slight smirk. “I have a feeling she's not someone I should keep waiting.” 

Abelas’ lip twitched upward, and Ellya felt a subtle warmth creep into her chest. It was the first glimpse of anything resembling a genuine smile she had seen from him since the moment she had met him those few months ago at the Temple of Mythal.

“A wise decision,” Abelas said, a glint of teasing in his eyes.

Ellya smiled and pushed her palms against the stone to pull herself out of the water. As she stood and water dripped from her form, she saw Abelas' body jerk and him quickly avert his gaze. Ellya could see his jaw tense and the line of his mouth harden, and she instantly felt uncomfortable. Had she inadvertently breached some sort of ancient elven standard of propriety? The Dalish held no qualms about communal swimming and bathing, but perhaps the sentinels found the exposure of so much skin indecent. It caused another pang of bitterness to seep into her gut. Their cultures were once again standing against each other in stark contrast, making her wonder if they were really even the same people anymore.

She circled her arms around her belly and made her way towards the stairwell where her robes were waiting. Quickly redressing, Ellya thought about calling out to Abelas to wish him a good night, but the image of his turned head and hard features stayed her voice. They were just too different. She cinched her robe tighter and fled back up the stairs. Perhaps all she could hope for was a peaceful night and once again uneventful dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to my beta Sehnsuchttraum for helping me get this chapter in shape. <3


	4. Chapter 4

“What do you remember?”

Ellya groaned and rolled onto her side, away from Ishala's and Abelas’ hands. Her limbs felt heavy and the pain across her temples throbbed once more. She’d lost her sense of time, but although it felt like only moments had passed in her awareness, the stiffness in her body told her that it had been at least several hours.

“Uh, the smell of grass…” She pushed her sweaty hair from her face ”...maybe.” She coughed lightly and let her head loll back and forth against the cool tile, a feeble attempt to shake loose the memories. “Perhaps a song of some sort?”

Abelas scoffed and rose. He looked at her briefly before turning stiffly away. 

Ishala leaned towards her, as Abelas paced across the room. "What kind of song? Perhaps you could hum a bit. We might recognize it."

Ellya closed her eyes again and reached for the vision. "No," she said with a disappointed sigh. "I'm not even sure it was a song.” She let out a mirthless chuckle and looked at the ceiling. “Maybe I'm just making things up at this point."

Abelas slapped his palm against the wall. The sound echoed around the small chamber. 

“This is pointless. You are not trying.” His tone was clearly frustrated and annoyed, and Ellya bristled under his accusation.

Her eyes wide and her nostrils flared, she quickly pushed herself to her knees and glared at him. “I’m not trying?” 

“Da’len,” Ishala interrupted gently and placed a hand on Ellya’s shoulder, “I'm sure you feel you’re trying your best."

Ellya's lips parted at the patronizing tone and words, and she turned back towards Ishala with a scowl. Ancient elf or no, she would not be talked down to like an ignorant child. 

Ishala continued before Ellya could recover from her indignation. "Why do you fight? Why do you not let the power of the Vir'Abelasan take you?” 

“I’m not fighting,” Ellya responded and shrugged off Ishala’s hand, her own frustration growing. “I’m here, letting you do creators know what. I traveled for weeks just to try and find you. I’m doing everything I can.”

“You are fighting.” Abelas crossed his arms over his chest and looked across the room at her in condescension. “We can feel it every time we cast our spells. We have told you you must submit, and yet you resist. Why?”

Ellya lurched to her feet. She fought against the dizziness and hobbled as quickly as possible around the pool until she stood only a few paces away from him. “Perhaps you should tell me!” 

“Don’t be obstinate,” Ishala said to her back, her voice filled with gentle admonishment. “We’re here to help.”

Ellya felt the tips of her fingers grow hot as she clenched and unclenched her fists, her magic fueled by her growing ire. She knew it was the lack of progress over the last week that had set her on edge. Each session drained her body as well as her optimism and brought her temper closer to the surface.

"I know," she said quietly and tried to tamper down her unrest. "I just—I don't—" She stopped, too exhausted to adequately explain her fears.

“I should never have let you drink.” Abelas’ voice was no higher than a murmur, but Ellya heard his bitter words all the same. They hit her like a punch straight to her gut. “Better the power be destroyed than squandered by a fumbling shemlen.”

Ellya stepped closer to him with arms spread. “Then take it,” she challenged and felt her heart quicken. “I was barely given a choice. It wasn’t something I wanted. I only did what I had to do to save it from Corypheus.”

“Your ignorance knows no bounds.” Abelas narrowed his eyes and raised a finger towards her as he leaned in close. “Do not rebuke Mythal’s gifts so foolishly.”

Ellya almost laughed in his face, but her anger and fatigue were too great. 

“You call this a gift?” She gestured to her head. “And since when do I owe Mythal anything? She’s not locked away like I was always taught. She’s walking around freely.” Her lips curled in disgust. “And yet she does nothing to help her people! She has left us to rot under the shemlen’s feet. Elves are murdered every day and she stands idle!”

“That’s enough!” Ishala’s words fell on deaf ears as Abelas and Ellya stood toe to toe.

“You want her powers gone?” Abelas’ whisper was as vicious as the look on his face as he considered her. “Then, you shall have it.”

“Abelas, no.” Ishala’s startled plea came too late. Within the breadth of a moment, Abelas brought his hands to Ellya’s face and pressed his fingers against her skull in a fierce grip.

It was not a gentle thing, this time. No slow fall towards her memories. No relaxation of her muscles and a steady thrum into the vastness of her mind. This time, the moment Abelas’ hands met her skin, Ellya felt a fire beneath her eyes, an instant blaze of power that burned across her flesh and sank deep into her bones. She opened her mouth in shock. Looking to Abelas, she realized his face matched her own: his lips parted, his brow scrunched in concentration and pain, and his clear eyes glowing blue. 

They toppled to the floor together, and the last thing Ellya saw was a brilliant flash of green.

_***_

_The surf took her. Rolled. Crashed. Pulled. It was a relentless wave against her body, the swell and ebb of a violent tide. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swim, couldn’t find any way to break free from the current. It pulled her down and twisted her body before she slammed against something hard. Her eyes snapped open and she blinked against the stinging darkness. She opened her lips and gasped for breath as bubbles rose from her water-filled throat and lungs. The pull of the current gripped and yanked her down, like it was a feral beast dragging and clawing at its wounded prey. A scream wrenched from her throat, but was lost in the thick suffocation of the seawater._

_Not like this._

_A firm hand gripped her wrist and pulled her sideways, away from the tug of the depths. She kicked and flailed her legs, trying desperately to help, to save her own life._

_A wet slap and her body fell against rough sand._

_Sunlight, painfully white and blinding._

_Darkness, cold and thick._

_And then—_

_She stood upright, her hands splayed casually against the dark polished wood of a desk. Her fingers drummed relentlessly and her breathing was quick and uneven. She looked into the mirror atop the desk and assessed her image: elven male, young and handsome. As she met her reflection’s eyes, she felt Ellya Lavellan fall away and his memory take over._

_Everything needed to be perfect today. Too much rested on his shoulders. He looked into the mirror again: white hair greased and slicked back to display Mythal’s blue branches, robes immaculately cleaned and draped in the appropriate style, and hands powdered so as not to lose hold of the offering._

_“The priests await your command.”_

_He sighed at the sudden and familiar voice. His fingers gripped the wooden surface harder before he pushed away and turned._

_Abelas? Ellya startled away from the memory in recognition of the sentinel standing in the doorway. Her mind buzzed and blurred between the male form she’d taken and her own. No, Abelas was the name she knew him by. He was different, younger, with his hair cropped short on the sides and braided into several rows along the top. Decorative golden jewelry lined his ears, and fine silken robes of white adorned his body. His face beamed with a wide and playful smile._

_She felt her borrowed body nod and move towards him. It opened its mouth in response to Abelas’ words, and she felt her mind seep back into the memory._

_“Stop smiling and be on the ready, Bel'him," he replied, his voice deep and full of concern. “Peace is our goal, but this is only the first step. They may not be as receptive as we’d like.”_

_Bel'him frowned and moved away from the door. "Talaros--"_

_The softly-spoken name caused his body to stiffen. Memories of a time before he was a high priest of Mythal itched at the edges of his thoughts, but he pushed them away with a severe nod._

_"That is not my name anymore. Or have you forgotten your own pledge?" He turned away from Bel'him briefly before gazing back at him with a small smile. He was so young. "Remember our purpose today. That's all I ask of you."_

_“Yes, Sulevinathi,” Bel'him answered and bowed low._

_He jutted his chin high in dismissal and walked out the doors to assemble his entourage. Nothing could distract him from his divine purpose today._

_As soon as he left the doorway, the surroundings shifted. He was no longer standing in a dark, smoke-filled room. Now, he stood at the top of a long onyx stairwell. It lead down, deep into the shadows of the earth towards the abyss._

_Sulevinathi swallowed and gripped the white sapling in his hands tighter. With a nod to Bel'him and the other sentinels and priests at his sides, he began his journey. Step by step they walked in silence. The further they went, the darker it became, the natural sunlight snuffed out by the imposing rocks above their heads and replaced by the eerie red glow of blood-magic fueled torches that lined the path._

_He could see the black temple in the distance, their destination. It loomed ominously and filled him with anxiety for their task. Mythal wanted peace and it was his duty to ensure her desire._

_A large metal gate rose up from the ground with a loud clang as they approached, its top dotted with rusted blades and strung with heavy chains. A masked sentry greeted his entourage as they came near, and held up a long spear to block their entry._

_"Your kind is not welcome here," the sentry said and jabbed his blade forward._

_Sulevinathi straightened his back and took another step towards the gate, heedless of the spear pointed at his chest._

_"We are expected. Freedom and peace is our offering." He held out his arms to present the sapling and gestured for two of his entourage to do the same, each holding a white sapling of their own._

_The masked sentry stared at them for a long while without moving. It was impossible to tell the creature's intentions beneath its heavy armor and hidden features._

_A low horn blared in the distance and the gate creaked open. With a chuckle, the sentry bowed and stepped to the side. "Your entry is granted, tree slave," he said mockingly._

_Sulevinathi ignored the insult and swept past the sentry, though he didn't fail to notice the stiffening of Bel'him and the others at his back. They were on guard and afraid, but he could not afford to stoop to such cowardly emotions. Peace and truce. A first step to harmony. Those were his goals._

_The temple swelled to life around him as he made his way through the gates and down the long hallway towards the inner sanctum. White, acrid smoke billowed from the long offering trenches along the path and swirled around his feet. He clenched his jaw as he passed the paintings etched along the walls: halla trampled into the earth, ironbark bows snapped in two, and the great huntress bowing before the red altar. He averted his eyes from the grotesque images and glanced forward. Glowing eyes looked down at him from the high balconies and out of the shadowed pillars at his sides, but he pressed on and urged his entourage to follow._

_There, before him at the top of the black staircase, was the high priest of Anaris, his vallaslin crude and puckered as if done by a dull blade, and surrounded by his lesser clergy men and women. They sneered down at him and his sentinels as they approached with their gifts._

_The high priest, Dothras, spread his arms out wide and grinned. "Ah! Our appeasement at last. Have you come to discuss our terms?"_

_Sulevinathi ignored the shuffling and discontent behind him and stepped forward with his sapling._

_"Dothras," he said with an assured smile, "you know as well as I that this war cannot continue without many lives lost on both sides. Mythal desires peace."_

_Dothras threw his head back and laughed. Soon, the whole of the temple joined in, sneering laughs echoing from all directions._

_“That is your problem, tree slave,” Dothras said and took a step down from the dais to move closer to Sulevinathi. “You and your pathetic god like peace too much.” He took more steps down and preened. “We, on the other hand, revel in the destruction. We embrace our nature, while your beloved gods pretend. Your mistress is no pillar of virtue.”_

_Sulevinathi’s anger rose within him at Dothras’ blasphemous words, but he stamped it down. Such irreverence was not unexpected of one of the dark god’s followers._

_He bent to place the sapling on the step below Dothras’ feet and gestured to his entourage to do the same. When the three offerings were carefully arranged, he grabbed the blades strapped to his back._

_A hush fell across the temple, the inhabitants holding a collective breath._

_Sulevinathi held his blades high and glanced from Dothras to the surrounding denizens of the temple. It was time for the true test of faith. With a slow blink, he gently lowered his blades to the steps and let go._

_The clatter of metal against stone echoed across the silence._

_“Peace, Dothras,” Sulevinathi said quietly. “Surely, your master wishes no more suffering upon his people.”_

_Dothras looked from the offered saplings to the discarded weapons. Slowly, a smile spread across his face. With a grip of his spear, he nodded and took the remaining steps to stand directly in front of Sulevinathi._

_“Peace," Dothras said._

_Sulevinathi watched as Dothras raised a free hand to place it on his shoulder. Warm breath pooled in his ear as the dark priest leaned in close. “It shall be yours when the last of you tree slaves and all your sniveling masters are wiped from existence.”_

_Before he could react, he was jerked close and a sharp pain exploded in his side._

_“No!”_

_Sulevinathi couldn’t register the screams, nor the start of battle. A wet sound escaped his lips, as he looked down and clutched his abdomen in disbelief. He couldn’t understand. Blood flowed freely from the gaping wound below his ribs, and his hands fumbled against his robe, a desperate attempt to stop the torrent of red. He looked up as Dothras grinned and pulled back, the spear held in his hands dripping its carnage._

_Sulevinathi fell to his knees before the steps. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Mythal forgive him. He had failed._

_He slid to his back, his energy drained with each passing moment as his life force seeped from his side. He could see the flashes of colored magic blast across the sky, watched as arrows and spears flew towards those he loved, those under his care and responsibility. His sentinels, his priests and friends, fought around him. He had failed them too._

_Suddenly, Bel’him was before him, his bright, amber-colored eyes panicked and his body positioned as a shield over his own. Sulevinathi coughed and tried to speak, but couldn’t force the words from his throat. Bel'him needed to get out, needed to survive. Sulevinathi pushed at his chest, physically urging him to go as the words to command him gurgled in his mouth._

_Bel'him said something and pulled at him, but Sulevinathi couldn’t hear. His vision began to fade and blur. He focused on the golden eyes above him. Please. Get to safety. He pushed on Bel'him's chest again with the last of his strength and felt him let go, hopefully to return to battle and fight his way out._

_He had failed. As the world faded around him, he could only pray for mercy._

***

Ellya choked and sputtered. Her back arched and her fingers tensed and locked. Her mouth fell open and she looked around wildly for something familiar. She could feel the blood seeping into her throat, feel it deprive her of air. The wound was fresh in her side and the pain burned along her flesh like poison.

She was dying. 

Abelas held her across his lap and hunched over her, one hand gripping her side where the spear had entered and the other cradling her head. Unshed tears glittered in his eyes as he looked down at her with disbelief and raw sorrow. 

"No." The word came out as a hoarse whisper. His eyes raked back and forth before focusing on her face.

Ellya felt her body shiver and her heart speed. Convulsions spread across her form and her chest spasmed as she struggled for breath. She tried to grasp at Abelas’ robes, but her fingers slid limply across the tile.

"Ishala..." Abelas' voice sounded hurried, but Ellya couldn't focus on it for long, the pain crept along her body and engulfed her. 

She felt two pairs of hands pry at her form and the quick buzz of magic penetrate her skin, but it didn't help. 

Yellow gold eyes stared down at her, searching in panic. She tried to feel brave, to reassure them, but the edges of her vision dimmed and blurred. Her whispered name was the last thing she heard as her world fell to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a huge thanks to my beta sehnsuchttraum, and a special shout out to saarebitch for helping me out with this chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

A damp cloth across her forehead brought awareness. The chill pushed at her consciousness and begged her to leave the comforting darkness. She didn't want to. She felt safe there. Energy clung to her, ripe and cloying, but she was secure. 

Still, the damp cloth was insistent, and it pushed against the blurred shadows like a rising sun. Slowly, Ellya blinked, but her eyes were crusted, swollen, and sluggish to open. With a groan, she exhaled and curled her fingers into the silken sheets beneath her.

“Shhh,” a soft, feminine voice whispered, “you’re all right now, da’len.” 

Ellya blinked more and tried to focus on the blurred shape in front of her eyes. The fuzzy features soon sharpened and became clear: gently curled hair swept back into a long braid, an emerald green vallaslin pinched along a furrowed brow, and rich brown eyes looking down at her in concern.

“Ishala,” Ellya croaked in recognition and tried to sit up. Her throat felt completely raw and her voice overused. Even her muscles ached in ways she had not felt since her brush with death at the fall of Haven. 

With a gentle hush, Ishala pushed against Ellya’s shoulders and urged her to remain on her back. “Don’t try to do too much,” she said softly. 

Nodding, Ellya laid back and tried to clear her head. Her hands skimmed over the sheets until they reached the bare skin of her abdomen: it was soft and unblemished.

"What happened?" Ellya asked while she stared at the ceiling, her eyes shifting back and forth as she tried to process her most recent memories. 

Ishala swept the cool cloth across Ellya’s forehead again and down her bare shoulders. “What do you remember?” 

“Too much," Ellya whispered and shuddered. Her fingers ghosted across her skin, trembling. “I don’t understand. I felt it all. The spear entered right here.” She jabbed the space below her ribs and swallowed. “I felt the blood in my throat.” She turned her eyes to Ishala. “I knew without doubt that I was dying.”

The cloth stilled against Ellya’s collarbone, as Ishala let out a slow breath and pulled back.

“The mind can do powerful things,” she said quietly, not quite meeting Ellya’s eyes, “especially when paired with the power of gods.”

Ellya frowned and scoffed, a bitterness taking over. “Are you saying it was a delusion?" She tangled her fingers into her hair and tugged until her scalp ached. "Some new side effect of this that I get to enjoy?”

Ishala sighed and leaned forward to pull Ellya’s hand back to the mattress. “I don’t know what it was,” she murmured, as she pat Ellya’s forearm. Her gaze skittered away, and Ellya couldn’t help but feel like she was being lied to. She really didn't know Ishala well enough to tell, but an uneasiness sat heavy in her gut.

"You will need to speak to Abelas if you want better answers," Ishala finished dismissively and returned to smoothing the damp cloth along Ellya's skin, this time down the lines of her shins. 

Suddenly irritated, Ellya kicked the cloth away and tried to sit up, but Ishala pushed her back down and held her there with a disapproving stare. 

“No more childish and rash antics, da’len," she said firmly, putting particular emphasis on the infantile endearment. "He’s gone. Out hunting with the other sentinels," Ishala continued, her mouth set hard. She all but ignored the narrowing of Ellya’s eyes and the increasing tenseness of her body, but her face did soften as she lifted the cloth once more. "You’ll have to wait until morning, and it’s for the best. You need your strength after all your body has gone through."

Before Ellya could open her mouth in an indignant retort, the door swung open with a loud clang. 

Halani stepped across the threshold with a smile, seemingly ignorant to the tense mood of the room, and kicked the door shut. A small ivory pot was cradled in one of her palms, and a smoking stick of what smelled like incense was grasped in the other. 

"Good," Ishala said as she stood up and dropped the cloth into a basin atop Ellya's desk, "you're just in time."

Halani handed the pot to Ishala and settled next to Ellya's feet. 

"How are you feeling?" She asked with a small smile, as she nestled the bottom of the stick of incense into a nub of candle wax. 

"Fine," Ellya replied with a tight nod. 

Halani’s brows puckered into a slight frown, but she said nothing. She remained silent, watching with concerned eyes as Ellya brooded, until Ishala approached with the ivory pot.

“I promise, da’len,” Ishala began, her shoulders slumping in tired resignation, “you’ll get your answers, but please, for now, allow us to tend to your body while your mind rests.”

Weariness crept through her bones as Ellya looked between Ishala and Halani. She did not wish to take her frustration out on them, and her muscles did ache terribly. With a grimace, she nodded at them. As Ishala moved the thin sheet off of Ellya’s legs and began whispering instructions to Halani—how to apply the salve, the right direction in which to waft the incense smoke—Ellya finally felt some of the tension dissipate and a genuine, if small, smile form along her lips. Closing her eyes, she could almost imagine that it was Keeper Deshanna above her, infusing her lessons into even the most mundane of opportunities. She let the bittersweet image wash over her as the two women massaged her body with their medicines. With each firm stroke of Ishala's hands, Ellya's consciousness fell further and further away and soon sleep claimed her once more.

***

When Ellya jerked awake some time later, it seemed like only moments had passed. Her dreams may have been silent, but her mind was far from restful. She could not shake the anxiety that gnawed at her belly, nor the haunting image of walking deep into the bowels of the earth to meet her death at the end of a Forgotten Follower's spear. 

Trying to ignore the pulsing throb between her temples, she threw the blanket away from her legs and stood. Quickly, she wrapped a thin robe around her body and strode to the door. She didn't care who saw her, or indeed if anyone was awake at whatever hour it was. She needed to get out of her room, to stretch her muscles and find some order to the jumbled mess that was her thoughts.

Ellya picked her way down through the communal living space and down the twisting corridors aimlessly, a small ball of flame in her hand the only light to guide her way. The halls were completely still. Even when they were avoiding her, the other elves had left a presence that could be felt. Now, it was as if the temple was completely empty, like her experiences there had been a dream and her ancient companions a figment of her imagination.

With a shudder, Ellya pushed away those uneasy thoughts and shuffled around another bend. Ishala’s salve had done its trick, as her muscles no longer felt so stiff, but some of the soreness lingered, making her gait uneven and reminding her of Dothras' smiling face as he leaned in to whisper in her ear and plunge the spear through her belly. 

Ellya stopped walking and raised a hand to the cloth across her stomach, twisting it and smoothing it through her fingers. The thought that more memories could await her like that, to feel and remember them so vividly, frightened her beyond measure. She had come to the sentinel elves seeking answers out of necessity, out of what she thought was a desperate means for survival, but now she wasn't so sure she was glad she had done so. 

Slowly, she continued walking until her eyes fell upon the shadowed face of a familiar wooden door. With a hesitant hitch in her breath, she inched forward and pushed it open, steeling the fluttering nerves in her breast as she thought of her last memory of the room, of lying in Abelas' arms and gasping for breath as she felt death descend upon her. 

The ritual chamber's pool lay in front of her, the light of her flame reflecting dully across its smooth surface. Ellya shuffled forward until she stood just at its edge and knelt.

Swallowing, she suspended the ball of flame in the air and extended her trembling arm forward. The pool was so close, the tips of her fingers mere inches away from the water. It was no Well of Sorrows, but she wanted to scream at it anyway, or beg it for answers, to give the power back and leave this forgotten temple to the past. Taking a deep, uneven breath, Ellya pulled back and rubbed her eyes with her palms, before bending forward and cradling her head in her hands. She had never felt so lost before. She had thought coming here, seeking out these ancient elves, would bring her answers, but only more pain and more confusion had come from her actions. Panic welled in her chest. She pursed her lips to choke it back and took a deep breath through her nose, the sharp herbal smell of Ishala’s salve filling her senses.

“You should be resting.”

The deep voice cut through the darkness, making Ellya startle and sit back on her heels. Reaching out, she pushed magic into her ball of flame until it grew large enough to illuminate the edges of the room.

Her eyes fell on Abelas almost immediately. He was leaning against the far wall, his back partially turned to her, and his eyes cast down. Ellya wrapped her arms around herself and frowned at him. His entire posture was withdrawn and hunched inward.

“I’m sorry,” she said lowly as she glanced around the room. “I didn’t know you were here. Ishala said you were hunting.”

Abelas shifted under her words, his shoulders tensing slightly as his head turned further from her gaze. “Yes,” he murmured, “that is what I told her.” 

Silence consumed the room, as Ellya sat staring at Abelas. There had been so much she had wanted to ask him when she had first awoken. She had even contemplated seeking him out in the jungle to press for his knowledge, but now in his presence, the words died in her throat. All she could see as she looked at him was the young elf of the memory, eyes full of panic as he knelt over her dying form.

“I couldn’t sleep any longer,” Ellya finally settled on saying. "I thought coming here might calm my nerves and organize my thoughts." 

Abelas said nothing in response. He didn't even glance in her direction. 

"It was different this time," she began explaining, her words spilling forth as a means to fill the void that seemed to choke the room. "I remember everything." She paused when she saw Abelas stiffen. It was obvious by the tilt of his head that he was listening to her very intently. "I..." She started again but hesitated. Giving voice to the memory felt almost like an intrusion, like she would be speaking a secret that wasn’t hers to reveal, and she wasn’t sure how he was going to react. "Abelas, this might sound strange,” she continued slowly, “but I saw you there, in that memory."

"I know."

Ellya's brows rose as she sank further onto her heels in shock at Abelas' reply. 

"You know?" She asked in wonder. "How do you know?"

"The gods have always seen fit to punish those who attempt to steal from them," he whispered over his shoulder, his brows scrunched and his fists clenched. 

The answer was so typically cryptic that Ellya felt her anger begin to rise once again. 

"What does that even mean?" she practically growled in frustration. "If you saw what I saw, then we both know you were there. Stop speaking in deliberate riddles and give me some answers!"

Like an arrow loosed suddenly from its bow, Abelas pushed from the wall and rounded to face her. "Do not command me, shemlen," he hissed through clenched teeth. "You know nothing of what you saw!" He took two steps towards her and raised an accusatory finger. "You fumble through memories not your own, memories no mortal should possess, and yet you demand the key to their puzzles as if you are worthy of their truths? You are nothing more than a broken vessel for things beyond your understanding. You would do well to remember that." 

Ellya shrank away from his sudden advance and the biting anger in his words. She was not afraid. They had sparred with their tempers before, but she was surprised by the sheer force and vitriol with which he spoke, as if she had personally wounded him. 

She bit her tongue to keep a response to his insults in check, but it only worked for the barest of moments. Worrying her jaw, she opened her mouth as she felt her indignation begin to spill over, but something about his demeanor made her pause. His hands trembled as they clenched and unclenched. His chest rose and fell in heavy breaths. And his normally tall posture shrank and curled downward as if pulled by an invisible, heavy weight.

Ellya gasped as understanding hit her, her anger deflating in in a soft exhale.

He was grieving. 

She had seen it behind the disbelief in his eyes as he knelt over her in the vision, and heard it in his whispered ‘no’ as he cradled her in his lap when it was over. She even heard it in his lashing words, meant to wound and deflect. It was the kind of sorrow that completely consumed. And it was the kind she, herself, knew too intimately.

If Abelas had somehow shared that memory with her, a memory of someone he loved dying a violent death before his eyes...her mind spun at the implications. 

"Abelas," she whispered softly, no longer able to feel anything but the ache of her heart as it raced, "who was Sulevinathi?"

His jaw set and his shoulder curled inward once again as he turned back towards the wall. "A bitter memory from a time long ago."

Ellya pushed uneasily to her feet and fumbled slowly along the edge of the pool until she stood a few paces from his back, but she hesitated before she spoke.

"I'm sorry you had to see that again," she said tentatively, even though she knew the words were wholly inadequate. She didn’t want to imagine what it would be like to have to relive something so awful. She barely held back her own grief as the thought brought forth images of Keeper Deshanna's knowing eyes, Fenlan's laugh, and Master Senarel's proud smile. She grappled for something else to say as she noticed the slightest shift of Abelas' head, a tilt of his ear towards her words. Her mind turned darkly to the memory of planting trees upon trees in the marches, each one for her own beloved dead, friends and family she would never see again. "There's a terrible guilt that festers, isn't there?" she said with a sudden and bitter twist of her lips, causing Abelas to turn and look at her, his eyes scanning her face intensely. "When you survive and others don't." She shuffled to the edge of the pool again and knelt before before taking a deep breath to still the sinking feeling in her chest. It wasn't right to make Abelas' grief about her own. 

"Whoever he was to you,” she began again with a softer murmur, “and whatever small comfort it may bring, you should know that Sulevinathi's last thoughts were of love for you. He wanted nothing more than for you to live."

Silence stretched once more as they stood in the dim light of the ritual chamber. Ellya could barely breathe as she looked back at Abelas and the sheer depth of emotion that shone through his eyes at the revelation of her words. It was almost uncomfortable in its rawness and yet impossible to turn away from. She felt something then, a certain kinship and familiarly, as if she were looking at her reflection in a distorted mirror. As if she had been drowning and suddenly wasn't so alone in the deluge. She wondered if he felt it too. 

Abelas wet his lips and turned his golden eyes towards the pool. “He was my brother,” he whispered, breaking the silence, but not the affected mood of the room.

Ellya nodded, pieces of the memory clicking together, and waited for him to continue. 

“Older, though by less than a century I often reminded him,” Abelas answered with a half smirk, before his expression sobered once more. “There were others, but we never knew them. Our mother sold us to the priesthood when we were very young. Talaros, as was his birth name, was the only blood family I knew, and as such, we were close.”

Ellya could only stare at him, appalled. She didn’t wish to insult him in his reminiscing, but to hear that Abelas' own mother had sold him into slavery was completely unfathomable to her. Sure, she had been given to Clan Lavellan, but her parents had come with her. 

Abelas simply eyed her. “I can see you disapprove,” he said, “but do not judge her too harshly. Life as a servant of Mythal, the most glorious of all the goddesses, was better than a life of starvation and poverty. I am sure her compensation was well spent on providing for my other brothers and sisters.”

Ellya’s jaw clenched. She absolutely did not think slavery, no matter how pretty it was packaged, was better than freedom in any form, but she held her tongue.

"My thoughts on the matter aren't important," she said dismissively, if not quite truthfully, in an attempt to push past the subject. "But I'm sorry you had to lose your only family like that." She rubbed her forehead and her face softened as she looked at him. "And that you had to experience it again."

"It is not something I have ever stopped experiencing," he whispered, his words floating into the darkness of the room and swelling into the heart of her own grief. Ellya turned her eyes towards him and a quiet understanding once again passed between them. 

After a moment, Ellya gently cleared her throat and focused back on the dull, glasslike surface of the ritual pool. “When I met you in the Arbor Wilds,” she began, both as a means of changing the subject and as well as an attempt to more delicately gain some answers, “you mentioned the fall of Arlathan was due to internal strife. The war of that memory, the one that Sulevinathi and Dothras talked about? Is that what you meant?”

“No.” Abelas’ lips twisted into a snarl before he grimaced and sighed. “And yes." Slowly, he walked to the edge of the pool and settled himself next to her. “What you witnessed was a precursor to the wars that ended the reign of the Elvhen.”

Ellya frowned and turned her body towards him, raptly awaiting his explanation.

“You must understand,” Abelas said seriously, looking out across the pool, “the gods were not like you or I. We were taught that the gods were once one, born from between worlds, the physical and the Fade alike. Whereas our connection to the land of spirits came only in our dreams and in uthenera, the gods could live in either, freely going as they pleased and finding power and energy from both. They were magnificent and terrifying to behold, beyond our understanding.” Abelas sighed and his expression grew weary. “However, there was a schism of sorts. These creator gods as you call them warred with your forgotten ones, a war that spilled over into their followers. Some desired peace on both sides, and others nothing but death for all who opposed them. The wars lasted for centuries. That is what you saw.” Abelas gave her a soft smile of understanding before flexing his hands over his knees and turning his eyes back towards the pool. “Unfortunately,” he continued, “old beliefs are not so easy to slay. When the gods were banished and the hierarchy destroyed, the struggle remained. Adherents to the gods fought each other. Slaves fought masters. Nobility fought each other for power. And when we were at our weakest from chaos, the shemlen attacked and sank our city to the ground. With Arlathan gone, the rest of the empire was easy to dispose.”

Ellya let out a long breath, the sinking feeling in her chest pulling tighter. Though what Abelas revealed was not like the history she had been taught in her youth, it still rang with logic and truth. All the same, she couldn’t deny the disappointment she felt. She wanted to blame the Tevinter snakes for everything, many Dalish did, even if she knew that was naive. It was easier that way. If she acknowledged her own people’s role in their downfall, where would that leave her going forward? She would not excuse Tevinter’s actions, nor the abhorrent treatment of the elves by the Chantry's dogmatic ways, but her past felt colored and her childhood vision of The People’s ancient glory tainted. The sinking feeling grew, and Ellya latched onto the words she could understand to ground herself.

“I’ve spent my life dedicated to studying and revering the creator gods, even though I believed they had no way of answering my prayers,” Ellya said with a wry smile. “It must have been a magnificent thing to walk among them in their full glory.”

Abelas’ lips pulled into a genuine smile at her words, the first she had seen from him. “Yes, before her murder, Mythal was a goddess truly worthy of the devotion bestowed upon her.”

Ellya thought back to her encounter with Mythal in the Fade and meeting the tiniest fragment of the mother goddess. Even facing her in the flesh of a human woman and the new uncertainty she had felt towards her pantheon, Ellya had felt humbled. 

A frown tugged at her lips, as a gnawing fear crept back into her gut. “Abelas, do you truly believe my mortality is why I can’t control the Vir’Abelasan?” She swallowed back the tight lump that had formed in her throat. “That I am somehow unworthy and unable to process the ancient knowledge of the Elvhen?”

Abelas said nothing for a moment, Ellya's honest question and uncertainty hanging in the air. With a quiet sigh, he reached across her lap and took her left palm between his hands. “I should not have tried to take The Vir’Abelasan from you.” His voice was tinged with regret and he glanced at her mournfully. Confused, Ellya simply waited for him to explain.

“Mythal is not the only god whose power you possess.” He turned her hand face up in his own and traced a finger along the jagged edge of the anchor’s scar. “When I tried to take The Vir’Abelasan, your mark retaliated. As it was temporarily spent, I was left vulnerable, and my own magic and consciousness was pulled down into the Well with you, as it is inevitably bound to do. I can only assume because I resisted, The Vir'Abelasan latched onto something familiar...and painful for me. To teach me a lesson.”

Ellya’s mouth parted in disbelief at his words. Her jaw worked and floundered to find something to say in response, a million questions overloading her ability to speak.

“So, no,” Abelas continued, covering her hand once again with his own, “I do not think you are unworthy.” His eyes flicked to her. “Mythal’s magic is whole and unblemished within you, I felt it.” He glanced back down at her hand. “However, I did not foresee the effect of this.” He gestured to their joined hands.

“Effect?” Ellya asked, still dumbfounded and struggling to follow his train of thought to its conclusion.

“As I said, this magic, too, is of the gods, equal in match to The Vir’Abelasan,” Abelas continued, stroking her mark almost reverently. “It is the same magic that infuses and protects this temple. The magic of Fen’Harel, of trickery and deceit, of knowledge and pathways.” He paused and his gaze flickered once more to meet hers. “Of barriers.”

Ellya snapped her hand back to her chest, as if his touch had scalded her. “You’re saying the anchor belongs to Fen’Harel?” she whispered, feeling aghast and terrified. She had no words for such an unthinkable truth. To have a part of the trickster god buried within her palm, that she could be just as indebted to him as she was to Mythal was shattering. “That's why I can't control the power of the Well? That...that he or...or his magic is somehow fighting the Well for its claim on me?”

Abelas’ brow pinched but he held his hands up in an obvious attempt to calm her. “No,” he said, his voice assuring, “the Well, at least, does not work in such absolutes of will. You are bound, certainly, but not controlled.” His lips pursed as he paused, seemingly considering her fearful words, but he continued on, “Perhaps if Fen’Harel were here, he could have some sway over you, but I do not believe your mark is anyone’s other than your own to command.”

A slight relief bloomed in Ellya’s chest, but it was replaced by more questions. “Then,” she began tentatively, “you’re saying I’m the one doing this? That I'm somehow using the anchor to fight the Well?”

Abelas just looked at her, obviously agreeing with her assessment, but letting her voice it herself.

Ellya scoffed again and looked down at her hands. “Why would I do that? How could I be using the anchor without realizing it? I've used it to close too many Fade rifts to not notice it's power.” More questions swam through her thoughts.

“That I cannot say,” Abelas said simply, though kindly. “At first, I thought you were merely resisting The Vir’Abelasan. Though now that I have shared and felt your experiences with it, I believe you are using the anchor to construct a barrier to close it off and encapsulate it from the rest of your mind, despite your conscious desire to achieve the opposite. When the anchor’s power was temporarily expelled, you were able to remember the memories were you not?”

Ellya frowned, but each word Abelas spoke sounded further and further like the truth, and with it came a faint spark of hope and excitement. Turning to him, she grasped his forearms. “Then, let’s test your theory. Right now. Help me call forth another memory and I'll see if I can remove the barrier and remember.” She knew her voice was tinged with desperation, and she didn't want to dwell on the types of memories she could encounter, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to care. If they had an answer to her troubles, she needed to follow it to its end. 

“You are exhausted,” Abelas said, but did not attempt to remove her hands, “as am I.” He looked away, a suddenly guilty expression crossing his face. “And my kin and I must venture forth. I have kept them here beyond what is reasonable. We were never meant to linger in this place for so long." He paused momentarily when her hands loosened from his arms. "I have already sent away all but a few in search of other forgotten places, in hopes that we will find others like us. Myself and the rest will depart tomorrow.”

Ellya pulled back, shock stiffening her limbs. “What?” she whispered, her voice choked.

“I am sorry. I have helped you all that I can.” His voice was low and even, but he would not look at her. 

Panic began to swell in her chest. They couldn't just leave. He couldn't just abandon her when they were so close. The fear of failing caused her anger to spike. She felt utterly betrayed. “No," she whispered fiercely. "You're not sorry. You're afraid. You’ve seen something awful and now you're running." She could see Abelas stiffen and startle at her words, but she pressed on. "What would Mythal, the most glorious of goddesses, think of such a servant?” Her words were mocking and spiteful, but she couldn’t stop them. 

Abelas’ eyes flared and his body jerked at the accusation. She could see his jaw work, could feel his magic tense and spark, but he kept them in check. With a sharp glare, Abelas stood and made to walk away from her, towards the door.

“No, please!” Ellya scrambled to her feet, her anger giving way fully to fear. “Please, please, don’t.”

Abelas paused in the open and dark doorway. He didn’t look at her, but his words cut through all the same.

“As a last devotion to my covenant with Mythal, you will have one more lesson. Afterwards, my kin and I will depart and you will not follow. If you do, I will no longer stay their hands if they wish to kill you.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: this chapter contains gore and violence. I apologize for changing the story rating, but I think it's necessary.

Ellya stared at the darkened doorway of the ritual chamber for what seemed like hours after Abelas’ departure. She knew she should have gone back to her own room and tried to get some rest, but she couldn’t will her limbs to move. She was paralyzed by the fear that if she closed herself away and slept, the elves would simply leave and she would forever miss her chance to learn. 

So the night pressed on in fractured increments. The atmosphere of the room grew heavy and the oppressive weight of her situation crept like an ever present shadow at her back. Her vision became unfocused, and the murals on the walls seemed to swirl and snarl before her, the wolves whispering and taunting her as she waited. Her head lolled back and forth, nodding and jerking fitfully as she settled into the space between slumber and awake. Images danced in her head, some pleasant and some sinister. Memories blurred and, in her exhaustion, Ellya could no longer distinguish between her own life and those buried within her head.

A firm hand on her shoulder startled her awake. Ellya blinked away her confusion, her cheek pressed against the cold tile of the floor. She couldn't remember falling asleep, but the light of the room had changed. The pink hues of dawn spilled in through the open door from the common area not far away. 

Despite the protesting of her stiff muscles, her limbs tangled awkwardly beneath her, Ellya pushed to her knees and shook her head. Ishala was bent over her, her face pinched and her features etched in concern. She moved her hand to Ellya’s back and rubbed small circles across her shoulder blades.

Ellya looked past her, her nerves fluttering. Abelas remained at a distance on the other end of the chamber. His posture was stiff and tired and he barely looked at her. She opened her mouth, but only a slight sigh made it past her lips before she closed it again. Too much had already been said, and too many emotions laid bare. She wouldn't know where to begin in undoing the damage that had been done between them. 

“Are you all right?” Ishala whispered, her lips twisted into a frown as her eyes scanned over her form. She had stopped the slow massage against her back and had begun swiping the greasy and tangled strands of Ellya’s hair away from her face. 

Ellya gently clasped her hands and mustered enough energy for a small smile as she nodded, even if it didn't feel genuine. She must have looked pathetic sprawled across the floor in exhaustion, and she certainly felt awful, but she didn’t care. It was time for her last lesson, and she desperately needed its answers.

Abelas swept across the room, drawing her attention, and knelt beside them, though still at enough of a distance to be noticeable. Ellya frowned at him. The last words he had spoken to her had been ones of threat, and yet his face showed nothing of that exchange. No defensiveness. No anger. But also no hint of a concerned smile. No searching her face with eyes wanting to understand. No tentative connection as they bonded over a shared experience of grief. There was simply indifference, as if she were a particularly bland subject occupying his thoughts. Ellya was surprised at how much his demeanor stung, and she quickly averted her gaze. 

“We’re going to try something different this time, da’len,” Ishala said as she settled back onto her heels and broke the mood. “Unlike before, where we attempted to draw forth the power of The Vir’Abelasan and force a memory upon you, we’re going to try to help you explore your own powers.”

Ellya nodded. It made sense if she were truly the cause of it all, if she were truly the one fighting the power of the Well all along.

“What do I need to do?” she asked quietly.

“Kneel before the pool and close your eyes.” Abelas’ words were short and his tone flat, but Ellya listened. Slowly, she crawled forward until she was at the edge of the water.

As she closed her eyes, she felt two pairs of hands fall against her shoulders. On each side, one hand curved back to her neck, while the other two traveled down her arms until they rested palm to palm with her own hands. A low buzzing of foreign magic skittered across her skin.

“Do you feel our magic, da’len?” Ishala’s voice was soothing in Ellya’s right ear. “Everyone’s is unique. Reach out with your own and touch them. Identify them.”

Taking in a deep breath, Ellya let her own magic pool forward. The lesson was not unlike the ones she had learned in her youth, when she had studied under Deshanna and her first Keeper Ghaelin as her talents had begun to develop. She felt the fire beneath her skin, her own unique signature, and let it seep to her side, testing. She felt Ishala instantly. She was a calm coolness just beyond her reach, a fresh blanket of snow across an ancient meadow at midnight, both beautiful and deceptively dangerous in its quiet. 

Turning her left, Ellya reached out again. Abelas was harder to identify, but she could still feel him. He was guarded, devoted, and fierce. He was rainfall and lightning. She pushed further, the flames of her magic mingling into his and crackling. He was the mountain, the soft earth beneath her hands that rumbled and bent but never broke.

Abruptly, they both pulled back, leaving her stunned and feeling exposed, her magic lingering and lonely.

“Good,” Ishala said with a half smirk. She leaned closer and searched Ellya’s eyes, as if conspiring. “It seems your people remember the old ways of this well enough.” She patted Ellya's cheek and settled back against her heels once more. “Now, you must focus that inward. Find The Vir’Abelasan. Find the Mark of Fen’Harel. Once you can recognize them, you can separate them.”

Taking in a shaky breath, Ellya closed her eyes again and drew on the flames, concentrating on their form and letting them guide her. She followed them along her skin, breathed them into her lungs, and let them flow along her blood. Every fiber of her being felt alive with magic and she sighed at the pleasure of it. Deeper she went, her mind stretching as the flames dug into her body. She found the Mark first in her palm, its presence blindingly bright and feral. It was coiled against her hand but threw shoots across her body, unsteady roots that twined and trellised into her mind. Just beyond its solid mass was a soft and flickering blue gleam. 

She pushed weakly against the barrier with her flames, their light dull and almost black against the blinding green of the wall. A shock wave went through her at the touch. “It’s too strong,” she croaked out, suddenly fearful and her body aching and strained against the effort. “It hurts.”

“It’s powerful magic, da’len.” Ishala’s words were far away and muffled. “But it’s still yours. Grasp it and push through.”

Her flames flared and Ellya hurled them forward. The green light dimmed and the barest fissure formed along its front. Blue drops of water began to trickle through the crevice, and with them came whispers that crept slowly into her ears. Excitement bubbled within her chest and her flames leapt again, flaring against the barrier and heating its surface. 

“Yes,” she murmured, “I can almost see them.”

Her heart began to beat impossibly fast, her magic relentless against the barrier of the mark, urging it back and greedily lapping against the steady flow of water. The whispers cheered her on. The words weren’t exact but they drew her to them, begged her to release them and break the dam. Ellya could only obey. She needed them too. Desperate longing flowed through the flames making them grow tall. Ellya watched, breathless, as they leapt over the top of the barrier. 

A moment of still quiet descended within her mind. The whispers hushed. Then, an ear-shattering rumble rolled over her and the wall splintered, its shards flying forth and cutting across her skin. She opened her mouth in a surprised cry at the pain, but a wall of water crashed into her and drowned out her voice. The waves rolled and smashed against her, dousing the flames of her own magic as the barrier disintegrated. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The whispers became screams, shouts in ancient tongues reverberating endlessly in her ears and in her bones. A whisper of frost fell across her arms, a feeble attempt at a lifeline, but it was gone in an instant. Water filled her lungs as she kicked against the current. The Well of Sorrows was taking her, and she was too weak to fight.

“Ellya!” 

Strong hands fell against her cheeks. Soil and lighting burned her skin and broke her consciousness through to the surface. 

Ellya’s eyes flew open, and she reached forward, grasping onto whatever she could hold. Her vision swam with blue light, nothing quite clear as the tide tried to drag her down once more.

“Do not struggle. It is yours to command.” 

It was Abelas, his voice strong and clear against the rushing water in her ears. She focused her gaze and stared forward. His face was mere inches from hers, his hands cradling her face. Her own hands were tangled against the fabric across his forearms.

She opened her mouth to scream again, to beg for help. She could feel the suction of the current trying to pull at her, and she felt her grip slipping.

Abelas’ mouth softened and she focused on the curve of his lips as they moved.

“Ellya.” His deep voice saying her name steadied her and anchored her body. She leaned against him as the water momentarily stilled. “Do not let it overwhelm you. Concentrate and pose a question. Answers are their purpose. What do you wish to know?”

Her heart clenched as fear clawed at her. There were too many questions, too many voices and memories. Panic bubbled into her throat and no words could form in her head as the images of Dothras and the pain of death flashed through her thoughts.

Abelas pulled her closer to him, forcing her to look at him.

“Do not fear,” he whispered.

Ellya’s breath came in quick gasps and her eyes darted around the room. Abelas’ form was strong against hers. She knelt between his knees, hands clutching his robes as he cupped her face. Ishala was at his back, her hands against his shoulders and her eyes closed in concentration. Their presence grounded her, allowed her to take a deep breath and look inward once more. 

The barrier was broken. She could feel the power of the anchor steady and leashed in her palm, and the power of the Well slowly receding in her thoughts. She was no longer drowning, but treading, waiting to decide in what direction to swim. She looked to the mural along the wall: the mosaic wolf staring down at her.

Abelas’ thumb stroked against her cheek and she met his gaze. He was waiting for her.

“I know what I want to ask,” she said, her breathing still unsteady,” but I’m—” She paused and wet her lips, fear once again pulling at her and the water’s current gaining strength.

Abelas stared at her a moment, his eyes searching and unblinking. His nose flared slightly as his face slackened in understanding, but he quickly swallowed and nodded.

“Abelas, no,” Ishala said, her voice stricken as her eyes flew open.

“Ishala will tether me,” Abelas said, ignoring Ishala’s concern and speaking directly to Ellya, his eyes determined and voice reassuring. She felt her heart swell. “Ask your question and let the memories take us. You will not be alone."

Feeling the softness of his blue robes between her fingers, Ellya took a deep breath and closed her eyes. 

***

_The marble was slick beneath her fingertips, the banister glistening in the light of the two moons. Looking down on the uneasy stillness of the city, she frowned. The war was reaching a breaking point among the people. Attacks had been coming more frequently and spilling far beyond the reaches of temple adherents and into the streets. At least here, in the home of The Mother Goddess, things were calm. Still, she needed to walk the halls ready and alert._

_Oraina inhaled the muggy heat of the night air through her nose and smiled. It was sticky and left her uncomfortable beneath her golden armor, but she would have it no other way. Arlathan was her birthplace and the spiraling tower of Mythal's greatest temple her home. With a flex of her fingers against the pole of her spear, she glanced once more out and down across the twinkling lights of the city before continuing her patrol._

_There were murmurs from the underground that something was coming: a plan hatched of desperation or a truce between factions, but no one was certain. Peace was a wonderful notion. Unfortunately, it was something she could hardly envision. There had been too much bloodshed on all sides. She would uphold the will of her Goddess and not engage unless necessary to protect The Mother's interests, but Oraina felt restless and her palms slid against the rough surface of her spear._

_Another sentinel, Kandros, passed in his gleaming armor as she walked up the spiraling halls that stretched into the clouds. They exchanged a nod and went on their ways. The night was quiet. Nothing to report._

_A soft flutter of wings and a low warbling caught Oraina unaware as she walked around the next bend. Startled, she swung around and held her spear at the ready._

_The curved hall was empty behind her. Nothing but pale moonlight filled the space. Glancing to her left, she caught sight of a snowy owl perched delicately along the marble balustrade. It stared at her with its wide eyes and fluffed its feathers, before swiveling its head and hopping forward with a soft hoot, obviously unperturbed by her presence and the weapon she had swiftly drawn._

_Oraina smirked, her shoulders relaxing._

_"Oh, it's only y-"_

_A loud crack echoed across the city and a wave of magic catapulted her to the ground. Oraina slammed against the balustrade with a heavy grunt, her armor clanking and shifting as her muscles rolled._

_Coughing, she struggled to her feet and hurriedly looked around, spear at the ready. Shouts were coming from the floors above her, and she barely made it two steps forward before another blast hit her and sent her careening back. Ten more quick explosions sounded in immediate succession, as she lay on the ground, struggling to get back to her feet. Desperately, she crawled forward on her belly, trying to push through the waves of power, until she reached the arched doorway to the upper floors. She gasped as she looked around the main chamber of the high temple. The very air around her was split, its natural magic sundered and exposed to the other realms. Battle cries and the clashing of weapons clanged loudly over her head._

_Using her spear as a support, Oraina pushed to her feet and sprinted past the tears towards the sounds of screams. She took the steps two at a time until she reached the most sacred parts of the temple. Hesitating only briefly, she pushed open the doors into chaos._

_A hundred elves were crammed into the small shrine, all engaged in battle. Spears swung and blades darted. Spectral weapons flashed across the air and into exposed flesh. The floor was splattered heavily with blood and bodies as she looked around. An elf charged her as she stepped through the doorway, his face crudely marked with the vallaslin of Anaris. She quickly dodged the lunge of his polearm and spun in a circle to cleave her spear through the back of his black robes and into the muscles along his spine. Before she could stop to assess, another elf was upon her, digging a small dagger into the opening in her armor along her thigh. Oraina shrugged the other woman off and heaved the butt of her spear into her chest, knocking her back and allowing her to plunge the tip of her spear through her breastbone. Oraina stared, dumbfounded, as the woman fell back sputtering, blood dripping down her chin and across the lines of Sylaise’s fire vallaslin._

_She couldn’t understand. She looked around and saw her own sentinels outnumbered, but fighting well. Horns sounded and she knew more reinforcements were coming, but she wasn’t sure it’d be enough. Attackers with every vallaslin imaginable crowded the room, some even wearing The Mother’s proud branches._

_Another attacker jumped on Oraina’s back, but she rolled him away and pinned him to the ground, her spear at his throat._

_“Who are you?” she screamed at the man’s face, but the elf simply laughed and lashed out with a bolt of lightning._

_Oraina dodged and leapt to the side, another elf on her heels, his spectral daggers cutting through her golden cloak. She felled both men, before turning to face another, this one wearing June’s curved mask. Her spear went quickly through his side as one of her fellow sentinel’s slashed a sword across the back of his knees. Her victory was short lived as another attacker’s blade went through her comrade’s throat. Oraina jumped forward as quickly as possible to kill the man, but her friends were dying around her. The floor was littered with bodies, their blood spilling in grand pools across the tile._

_“Where is your goddess, tree slave?” a female elf taunted her as she circled around Oraina. Her face held the marks of Falon’Din._

_Oraina felt enraged and panicked. She watched as more and more of her fellow sentinels fell and darted her gaze towards the back of the room, towards the door to the innermost sanctum: the audience chamber of the Goddess herself._

_“Perhaps she is occupied?” the elf questioned, her voice feigning innocence. “Or maybe it is you who is occupied?”_

_Her blood froze at the comment. This was Mythal’s house. She would not stand idle when so many of her devotees were slaughtered. All of Elvhenan would question her power. Something was wrong._

_With a loud battle cry, she lunged forward and slashed at the female elf. The woman cackled wildly, the lines of her vallaslin distorting and sharpening the angles of her face. Oraina strode ever forward, her spear arcing fiercely and driving the woman ever back. The smile wiped from her face as her spear tore through the edges of her armor._

_“You are too late, tree slave!” the female elf spat, her torso staining red as she fell backward against the wall._

_Oraina screamed and plunged her spear through the woman’s heart. She barely gave her another glance, and even ignored the continued sounds of battle all around her as she sprinted towards the far door. She needed to know. She wasn’t allowed in the inner sanctum, no one but the most trusted adherents were, but fear pulled her forward. A great gnawing in her gut told her she was needed._

_The magic in the air grew heavier as she pushed the door open and slammed it behind her. The Veil between worlds that was typically so thin was almost nonexistent as she stepped past the threshold and deeper into the sanctum. The sounds of battle were distant beyond the wall, and the pathway too quiet._

_Slowly, Oraina crept forward, the only sound that echoed down the narrow hallway was the drip of blood off the tip of her spear as she walked._

_As she turned the final bend to The Room of Eluvians and The High Seat of the Goddess, her mouth opened in a strangled cry. Vomit heaved into her throat and she fell to her knees and wretched._

_Bodies of elves lay against the floor, their eyes plucked from their heads and limbs severed and scattered. Their tongues and throats were cut out. All recognition was gone save for the golden gleam of their armor and segments of Mythal’s vallaslin visible on the hanging pieces of their burnt skin._

_The air was rank and fractured, the Veil completely gone in places, and the five eluvians that lined the room were wholly blackened and destroyed._

_Sobs poured unrelenting from Oraina’s lips and she vomited again, as she brought her eyes to the throne. There was Mythal, the Mother, her great dragon wings spread and slashed, severed from her body and tied with Abyssal weapons to the remains of the eluvians. Her horned head and elven face was chained to her throne, black congealing blood dripping from her eyes. The rest of her body was segmented, its scales torn from her flesh, and a great, red spear was plunged through her belly, pinning her to the dais._

_“No, no, no,” Oraina whispered in disbelief, her body feeling agonizingly numb. Her Goddess could not be dead. It was not possible._

_A surge a magic swelled around her and the room exploded in blinding green light. A keening howl echoed across the large chamber. Red eyes filled the blackness and the shadows converged. In the center of the room, a figure formed, rippling and swirling with green sparks of magic._

_Oraina stared, helpless, as the figure walked towards the throne, its steps leaving wet, inky footprints in their wake. It looked down at the bodies of the elves, even reached out a long tendril once or twice as if stroking them, as it rushed towards the slain goddess._

_Another piercing cry sounded across the chamber, as the figure ripped the spear from Mythal’s form. Its howl lingered in rage and mourning, its body turning red and then white. Oraina sobbed against the sight, her own cry joining the dirge._

_Suddenly, it turned to her, and she was powerless to move. Its red eyes stared at her, penetrating her very soul and she finally realized who it was that she saw._

_“Fen’Harel,” she whispered, the name escaping her lips in a whimper. “Please.” She fell forward, her arms outstretched in a bow and cast her face down._

_Feet etched with green fissures entered her vision, and she knew the fearsome god stood above her._

_“Your goddess has been betrayed and murdered.” His voice was calm, but at his proximity, she could feel the rage of his magic lurking beneath. “Go to Wilds. To The Vir’Abelasan. Let your brothers and sisters know of what has transpired here. Then wait. Vengeance will not be swift, but you will know it when it comes. Prepare yourselves.”_

_A slender finger curled beneath her chin and urged her face away from the floor. Slowly, she let her gaze travel up the god’s body, elven now in form, past the flowing green and black robes and wisps of magic, past the long brown hair, and to his face._

_Ellya recoiled away from Oraina’s mind, her shock jolting her into full awareness within the memory._

_No. It was not possible. She stared at the familiar face. It was exactly the same. The same sharp angles of his jaw. The same full lips. The same clear blue eyes. Even his voice had been the same._

_“Solas…” she whispered, her voice choked as she stared at him: Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf, in all his glory._

_Suddenly, he looked right at her, his sharp eyes locking with hers, and she felt the Well pull her away._

_She felt herself crashing amongst the waves again. The current pulled her along and latched onto her own memories._

_A warm smile and an easy laugh. His shoulders slumped and unassuming. “My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions.”_

_A blue firelight flickering across his cheek. His eyes concerned and his arms drawn back. His hands clasped and worried as he looked at her. “Such things were foci, said to channel power from our gods. Some were dedicated to specific members of our pantheon.”_

_A smile at her tease. An eager response to her kiss. Passion, raw and unpredicted. His arms around her waist before they're gone. "Wake up."_

_Skin, slick and soft. Their breaths mingled in the moonlight. Her legs wrapped around his hips as he moved within her. “Vhenan…” ___

__***_ _

__Ellya gasped and flung herself backwards as she pulled away from the visions. Her chest heaved in struggled breaths and nausea threatened to overwhelm her control._ _

__No._ _

__She grasped her left wrist, the jagged mark along her palm stark and unavoidable._ _

__No._ _

__Her eyes dashed upwards. Abelas was staring at her, his lips parted in shock and his hands suspended in midair where they had been holding her._ _

__He had seen everything. He knew everything._ _

__Panic spilled over. Scrambling to her feet, Ellya ran._ _


	7. Chapter 7

Ellya’s feet hit the floor in rapid succession, slapping loudly against the tile as she attempted to flee. She didn’t spare a glance towards her temporary quarters, as she sped through the common area. Panic and instinct demanded she get away.

Even the rush of fresh air and the loud roar of the waterfall in the grand main room weren't enough to drown out the pounding thump of her heart. She needed to think. She needed out of the ground and out of the temple. His temple. 

Ellya lurched forward, her feet tripping into the sunken center of the room, and flung herself against the pedestal to regain her balance.

_A temple full of life. Dozens of elves, unadorned and unmarked, standing at the ready before the waterfall._

_Fen'Harel. A smiling benefactor, careful and caring. His eyes old and sad as he places a swirling orb upon the pedestal's smooth top._

_"To rest." He whispered, "Elvhenan will soon belong to you."_

Ellya shuddered against the smooth marble grooves, the anchor flaring in familiarity against her palm as another wave of nausea rolled through her gut. She tamped down the memories of the Well and pushed away from the pedestal, towards the arched doorway that lead to the surface. 

The outer temple barely registered within her mind as she ran through its dusty rooms. The air felt too thick and filled with ghostly scents. Scents of parchment and ink. Scents of magic. The scents of him. Ellya scrambled up the slick stairs, reaching and desperate to get to the light. 

As her fingers grasped into the tangled mass of weeds and roots of the forest floor, Ellya collapsed. Fresh sunlight poured down on her but the moment of relief was quickly shattered. Looking up, she found her gaze locked with the staring eyes of the wolf statue only a few paces away.

Ellya pushed to her feet with a wheezing pant and shambled into the jungle. Each step she took brought her further away, and yet she couldn’t escape her own mind. Images of Solas flashed unavoidably across her thoughts: their first meeting on that snowy mountaintop, their first kiss in the Fade, lounging in her chambers of Skyhold late at night as they read before the fire, fighting side by side against Corypheus, lust and love as they found release in each other’s arms.

She ran and ran, not caring where she was headed. Branches scraped against her face and twisted roots cut her feet, but all she could hear was her Dalish mantras. The Dread Wolf had caught her scent. Ellya fell to her knees as the Well surged within her again and blurred Solas’ face in her thoughts: Fen’Harel, feared and beloved. He who freed slaves from their bondage with his spells to remove the vallaslin. He who slunk in the shadows as the gods fought and their devotees bled. He who promised peace to those that would follow his cause.

“Argh!” A shriek of rage and disbelief welled inside her breast. Ellya jerked and scratched at her wrist and screamed to the sky. She felt utterly betrayed and violated. Her body, her mind, her fears and desires; she had shared them all with him, and all the while, his face had been a mask. Her nails dug into the soft flesh of her palm, drawing lines of fresh blood across her jagged mark, but the anchor remained static and unmoved, the power coiled and controlled as she had wanted only moments before. She felt like a fool, but even more foolish because she wanted him here: a Dalish longing for the Dread Wolf. But she wanted him to explain, to reassure her that it wasn't all a ploy for the power in her palm, a power she had unwittingly stolen from him. 

Her knees sank into the mud and moss and the thin cloth of her robe began to sag with the humidity and sweat. The forest chirped around her, but Ellya barely heard it. Her breathing had evened, but her heart continued to thud. None of it felt real. Nothing did. Not her memories. Not her beliefs. Not even her own being. And yet it all hurt. Ellya let go of her left wrist and curled into herself. Her chest wracked with a sob that wouldn’t come. She wanted to cry or rage or reason, but felt powerless to move at all.

“Why?” she whispered in a strangled voice even though she no longer believed anyone could hear.

Her entire life felt like a lie. She had studied the gods and had held herself a beacon of Elvhen truth, but the memories within her head had shown her just how wrong she had been. Stories of the Dread Wolf poured through her consciousness: tales of trickery and gleeful subterfuge. And she could not reconcile them with the man she had loved. Perhaps that was his greatest deceit of all. A laugh bubbled in her throat, but a painful sob came out instead. Tales of Fen’Harel. Tales of Mythal. Tales of Elvhenan. All carefully studied and cherished, and none of them were right. Ellya felt nausea swell again and her mind numb against the buzzing of her thoughts. The world seemed to shift, to realign off-kilter, and she could only cling to the moss at her knees and stare blankly ahead.

Time became meaningless as she knelt in the mud. Insects and animals ambled by. The sun traveled its path, and night began to fall. All the while, she sat motionless, lost and wounded and unable to find her way home.

A glint of gold through the leaves and the stride of a long leg were all the warning she received before her solitude was broken. Her heart lifted, hoping Ishala or even Halani had come to seek her out in the dusk, but it fell swiftly as she watched Tamael step out of the shadows and into the low light.

With a slump of her shoulders, Ellya turned her gaze away. Magic stirred in the palm of her hand, a last instinct of protective flame, but the weariness she felt made it falter. 

Tamael’s face was impassive as he looked down at her. "Put your magics away, banal'len. I'm not here to harm you." He strode forward, bow in hand, and crouched at her side. His eyes scanned her in intense scrutiny. 

"Then why are you here?" Ellya muttered. She jutted her chin at him, but didn't move from her spot. 

Tamael scoffed and stood. He didn't speak for a moment, just moved a few paces away and settled himself against the trunk of a large tree. 

"Abelas suggested I find you," he finally replied, his voice nonchalant as he plucked a blade of grass and twisted it between his fingers. 

"I'd have thought Abelas would suggest you all be on your way." Ellya couldn't keep the bitterness from her voice. It wasn't fair to misplace her anger, but Solas wasn't there and too much emotion was simmering in her heart. 

“Yes,” Tamael chuckled without a trace of humor, “that’s what I had hoped. We’ve spent far too long indulging your wishes. You’re not the only one seeking answers.”

Ellya winced at his tone. She swallowed against the lump in her throat and nodded. “Then go,” she whispered, her voice tight.

Tamael said nothing in response. Only the sound of the twittering birds in the canopy above their heads and the distant roar of the waterfall permeated the quiet.

“I knew Fen’Harel,” he said casually, “you might be interested to hear.” 

Ellya’s eyes slid to Tamael, her heart skipping a beat in her chest. “You knew him?” She could barely breathe as she waited for him to continue.

Tamael tossed the twisted blade of grass to the ground and plucked another from the base of the tree. 

“Yes,” he continued and looked out into the forest. “He freed me and my family from servitude. Snuck us away from a cruel house dedicated to Elgar'nan." He tossed the second blade of grass down and quickly plucked a third. “And in exchange I agreed to become part of his underground. Sent to the Temple of Mythal as a spy and as a means to garner support for his cause.”

Ellya opened her mouth in shock and her brow furrowed. He seemed so unconcerned with his words, as if he were discussing the weather and not the heavy memory of slavery and war. “Do they…?” The question caught on her tongue.

Tamael let the grass slide from his hands and dusted off his palms on his legs. “Do the others know?” he asked, his lips twisting into a rueful smile. “Of course they do. Why do you think Abelas sent me out here?”

“What did Abelas tell you?” Ellya asked quietly, shame heating her cheeks. She knew how a Dalish would react to a love affair with a maligned god, and feared an ancient elf wouldn’t be much different.

Drawing in a deep breath, Tamael unfurled his body and stretched his long legs out in front of him. “Only that you might benefit from hearing my thoughts.”

Frowning, Ellya sat back and wrapped her arms around her middle. “And what are they?”

“That Fen’Harel's not a god at all.” Tamael’s tone was biting and Ellya looked to him in surprise. “I was tasked with rallying the others and providing him with information,” Tamael continued, his eyes boring into hers. “He lured me in with his promises of peace and freedom, a better life for my Jae, my bonded, and for Arlassan, my son. And I was but a slave. Who was I to question the wisdom of a creator?”

Tamael grabbed a handful of grass and tossed it aside. 

“But there's no such thing as an all-knowing, all-powerful being. They're no different than us." His lips curled and his eyes narrowed. "When the barrier between worlds was strengthened, and the gods locked away, just like Fen’Harel had promised. When the time had come for his foretold peace and prosperity for the elves, well…” he paused and looked across at her, dark eyes glaring down his nose, “well, I believe you are proof as to how mislead we all had been.”

Her body slumped and she sank further into the moss. “You hate him,” she murmured, her own doubt and insecurity finding purchase in her thoughts.

“No,” Tamael said, surprising her once again, “I’m indifferent to him, and so should you be.” He stood and moved to crouch at her side. “But I will never forgive what he and all the other so-called gods let befall my people.”

Ellya rubbed her palms across the tops of her thighs. “Do you think what my people say is right then? That he's a selfish trickster?” she asked quietly, giving voice to her fears. “That he used you to further his own goals?”

Tamael smirked. “Of course he used me to further his own goals. That doesn’t mean his intentions were poor.” He snorted and stood, extending his arm and offering her his hand. “No, I believe he cared quite deeply for us, so much so as to sacrifice his power to save us.” Ellya tentatively put her hand in his and allowed him to help her from the ground. “But that doesn't change what happened. And for that, I am happy to be rid of them all.”

Her legs felt stiff and her head pounded, as she stood and tried to process his words. It still felt like too much, like she would never be able to sort out the truth.

“Come,” Tamael said, breaking her from her thoughts, “Abelas is waiting for you.”

The way back to the temple was long. Ellya followed at Tamael’s back, but each step felt like a burden. She had learned too much in allowing herself to partake from The Vir’Abelasan, each new truth a harsh cut that scarred, and she wasn’t sure if the knowledge was worth the pain. She wondered if it might not have been better to let the shemlen Morrigan have it, to live in ignorance and believe the pretty lies of love and faith.

Tamael said nothing after their brief exchange in the jungle. He simply lead her back, down the twisting stairwell into the earth and through to the inner sanctum of the temple.

Ellya’s throat constricted as the heavy weight of the earth above her head reflected the weariness of body and mind. They walked past the waterfall, past the pedestal that once held the orb that had marked her hand, past the guardian wolf mural that looked down at her in mocking, and down the spiraling stairwell into the dark cavern of the baths.

Abelas stood not far from the pool’s edge when they entered. He was alone, barefooted, and dressed in a simple blue robe that reached the floor. Lit by the sparse torches along the wall, he and the room looked both ominous and comforting. With a silent nod, Tamael turned back up the stairs and departed.

Ellya wrung her hands together. She felt exposed standing before Abelas. He had seen her failure and her shame, knew intimately the memories that should have been hers alone, and she could barely look at him for it. 

“I thought you’d be gone by now,” she whispered, a diversion from the subject hanging between them.

Abelas nodded and stepped closer to her, the hem of his robe swaying against the green swirling tiles. “We will depart in the morning,” he confirmed with a dip of his chin. His voice was steady, but his eyes held hers with a gentleness. She wanted to take it as pity, but that felt like a lie.

“About what you saw,” Ellya started, her words rushed. She wanted to explain, but Abelas quickly held up a hand.

“Your dealings with the gods are your own,” he murmured, taking another step closer to her and bringing his hands to his sides. “I simply want to offer you a gift.”

Ellya’s brows pinched and she looked at him in uncertainty. “A gift?” 

“Yes.” Abelas licked his lips and set his gaze across the pool. “You have experienced much. Your past and feelings are as clouded as the tumultuous sky of a summer storm. You bury yourself within its center and hide from what you do not wish to face.” Bending down, he scooped up a handful of water and let it trickle between his fingers. “But I can offer you an insight, a glimpse of yourself so that you may see beyond the darkness.”

Ellya swallowed sharply at the stark truth of his words. They cut right to her heart and saw into her deepest flaws, but she couldn't deny them. Inching forward, she knelt down at Abelas’ side. “How?” she asked quietly.

“These waters,” Abelas said, scooping up another handful and letting it slide across his palm. “You may have felt its effects when you swam before, but it is not simply for bathing.” He shook the droplets from his hand and turned to face her fully. “When initiates came to temples such as these, they were offered a cleansing. A ritual to show them their impurities, to show them what plagues their thoughts. They were done so that all could be washed away and their life could begin anew in the service of their God.” Abelas placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “If you desire, I will perform the ritual with you.”

Sitting back, Ellya stared at the water, her limbs trembling and her mind churning. “I’m afraid to,” she whispered, her voice strained. “What if…” she paused and took in a deeper breath. “What if what I see is just another cruelty?” Ellya clutched at her chest and dug her fingers into her robe. “What is what I find in here is worse than what I feel now?”

“Lingering on in uncertainty is not life.” Abelas sighed and slid his hand from her shoulder. “Trust me in that.”

Glancing between him and the slow current of the pool, Ellya shivered. Fear pulled at her strongly, but she knew she needed to know. Her journey had come so far. She needed to see it through. She turned to Abelas with a slight nod. “Okay.”

Abelas twined his fingers with her own and urged her to stand. Mutely, she followed as he lead her around the edge of the pool to the far side. The waters were shallower there, but more rapidly moving, and the side of the pool sloped downward like a shore.

Letting go of her hand, Abelas shrugged off his robes and cast them aside, until he stood before her in only a simple skirt, the green lines of his vallaslin curling over his shoulders and down his arms.

He turned to her seriously. “To bare yourself here should not be taken lightly.” He gestured down to himself. “The flesh may be exposed, but it will be your mind that is truly stripped.”

Ellya dipped her head and brought her hands to her robes, but hesitated. “Will you see what I see?” She didn’t know if she could bear any more of her private thoughts being known to anyone but herself. 

Abelas smiled softly. “No,” he reassured, “your mind and your heart is your own and the journeys yours. I am merely the guide.”

With shaking hands, Ellya undid the few clasps at her waist and let the cloth fall to the floor. Standing before him in nothing but her underclothes did not bother her. It was the anxiety of what she was about to face that set her on edge. 

Abelas reached towards her and took her hand in his before leading her into the water. Deeper they went, each step bringing the coolness and relief higher along her body. The current lapped against her and soothed the edge of her trepidation. Abelas pulled her along until she could no longer touch the bottom. When she felt the floor give away, she tried to edge back, but Abelas' hands went firmly to her waist and held her still. 

“Let the water hold you,” he said, his voice a soft command. “Close your eyes and let yourself sink into your thoughts.”

Ellya took a deep breath and allowed her feet to float from the bottom. Her nerves fluttered, but she tried to obey. Closing her eyes, she relaxed into Abelas’ arms and let the soft pull of the water wrap around her.

The familiar hum of magic began to flow, and the murmur of Abelas’ voice reached her ears. His words were too low for her to understand, but their chant echoed through her. Her body dipped and a hand cradled the back of her head, leaning it back into the water. A warm rush and she was falling. Water and magic surrounded her and she let herself be swept away.

***

_Fire roared all around her. Ash and smoke reached out like claws, grasping her arms and legs, and sinking their long tendrils into her throat. She coughed against the suffocation, hands splayed out in front of her in an attempt to fight off the cloud._

_She could hear the screams from every direction: men, women, children, and beasts, all fighting the flame and scrambling to salvage what they could of the camp._

_Ellya started to cry, her own sobs mingling with the terror around her._

_"Mamae!" She screamed, tears and soot blurring her vision. To her left, an aravel caught flame even as the barely-clothed hunters tried to beat it with thick blankets and Keeper Ghaelin reached out with his frost magics._

_Ellya began to panic, her heart pounding like a frantic drum. All around her people ran, burnt and confused, risen from slumber, like her, to the sound of alarm. White hot terror gripped her and paralyzed her limbs. Her eyes watered as she stared at the remnants of the camp. Tents once brimming with life were nothing more than blackened shells. Scorched halla writhed in blood and soot, the smell of charred flesh hanging rank in the air. Scrambling hahren shouted orders across the camp, as fires raged and twisted and consumed._

_A scream died in her throat, as strong hands gripped her and turned her body. New tears formed at the edges of her vision, her eyes falling upon the broad chest and strong arms before her. Father. Papae. Ellya threw herself into his embrace, placing her cheek against his bare and ash-smudged stomach._

_A quick squeeze and a brief hand through her hair, and he pulled back. Gripping her shoulders hard, he knelt down to meet her gaze._

_"Ellya, I need you to run," he said, his voice hoarse from the smoke but firm. "This is the work of shemlen raiders, and the night will not end without a fight." His rough palms smoothed down her arms until he held her hands. "Follow the trees north, around the mouth of the river until you reach the cliffs. Understand?” She nodded mutely at his words, his voice a deep and comforting life line amidst the chaos. “Hide in the shadows of the caves and wait. Others will follow."_

_More screams and more shouts punctuated his words. The fire and smoke became almost all-consuming as it ate through the camp, its flickering light casting an ominous sheen across the carnage._

_Her father jerked her body in his arms, bringing her attention back to his face, so strong and determined against the backdrop of destruction. She found herself unable to break away. She needed him, couldn’t feel safe without him. Her fingers curled tighter against his waist._

_"Ellya, go!" He pressed the hilt of a small blade into her palm and pushed her towards the brush. Then, just like that, he was gone, disappeared through the black smoke with daggers drawn._

_Her short legs moved on their own accord, obeying her father when she could find no mind to do so herself. Her feet were bare, but she couldn't feel them. Every sensation was drowned by fear. Others ran at her sides: children, elders, those carrying supplies and protecting the ones who could not fight. One last glimpse over her shoulder, and Ellya saw nothing but flames and smoke. No father. No mother. No Keeper and hunters. Her new home was destroyed and its people dying. A great blackness crept forward and overtook her, its voice filled with the screams of her people. As the fire burned the soles of her feet, Ellya fled._

_Darkness still suffocated as she opened her eyes with a startled gasp. A dream. No, a memory, every bit as painful as any nightmare the Fade could conjure. Her heart sped and fresh tears pricked at her eyes as her vision adjusted to the low light. She could still feel her father, his solid warmth pressed against her cheek that night. Could still see his strong outline disappearing into the billows of black smoke. She choked back a sob and curled her fingers into the blanket around her small form. It had been the last she had ever seen of him, or mother. They had died either to flame or shemlen blade protecting the clan. Two summers had passed since that night, but the memory and pain forever burned hot as if no time had passed at all._

_Ellya swallowed back the bile and sniffed away her tears. Her grief swelled as her eyes shifted around in the ebbing darkness: beads and tapestries and furs, clothing and weapons, incense and oils. None of it was theirs, and none of it would be again. Now, it was only hers._

_"Nightmares again, da'len?" The whisper bloomed through the shroud of night, drifting to Ellya's body and wrapping her in its warmth. She turned to the cot across the small tent and eyed the woman atop its blankets: Deshanna, First to the Keeper Ghaelin. She was propped on her elbow, chin in the palm of her hand, and looking at Ellya with kind, knowing eyes._

_Ellya stared with an invisible plea at the woman across the room, overcome by an intense desire to snuff out the loneliness brought about by the dream, but also an inability to open her mouth and beg for the comfort she desperately desired._

_With a small smile, Deshanna pushed back her own blankets and walked wordlessly to Ellya's cot, her white shift ghosting back and forth in a lulling rhythm with each step, until she knelt at Ellya's side._

_One touch, a gentle hand across her cheek, and the dam broke. Tears spilled down Ellya's face and her mouth opened in a gurgling cry._

_"Shhh, shhh, shhh, my sweet child," Deshanna cooed, her voice as warm and sweet as her mother’s honeyed tea. She pulled back Ellya's blanket and tucked herself along her form. Ellya sprang towards her in an instant and tangled her hands into the fabric across Deshanna’s waist. If Deshanna felt startled, she didn’t show it. Her arms circled Ellya, cradling and soothing, as she whispered comforts into the spaces between her sobs._

_And there Deshanna held her. The stillness of the night broken by Ellya's quiet cries and Deshanna's softly spoken words. Little by little, the spasms of her body ceased, and Ellya curled further into Deshanna's embrace, seeking anything to fill the dulled void within her chest._

_"Was it the fires again?" Deshanna whispered, bringing voice to the darkest images of her mind._

_Ellya nodded, too drained to do more._

_Shifting, Deshanna pulled her closer and rolled until she lay on her back and Ellya's head rested against her chest, the steady thrum of her heartbeat beneath her ear._

_"If my magic was stronger," Ellya croaked out, her voice raw from crying, "I could have controlled the flames."_

_Deshanna placed a gentle but firm hand around her shoulder. "You were barely seven seasons, Ellya. And now, at your age, most children haven’t even begun to show the first sparks of magic." Her hand against her shoulder moved softly back and forth as her voice lowered. "There was nothing to be done." She paused, her body very still. "There was nothing any of us could have done for those we lost."_

_Ellya wanted to protest, to fight against the defeat she felt deep within, but she stayed silent. Her lingering fears would remain her own. With a sigh, she closed her eyes, an unbearable weariness pulling at her while Deshanna’s strong hands held her firm._

_Embers, screams, and smoldering flesh flashed across her closed lids._

_Her body jerked with a heavy gasp, instantly awake._

_Deshanna pulled her down again, her brow furrowed but her face soft. As she settled Ellya against her frame, the tight curls of her black hair tickling Ellya's nose, Deshanna hummed beneath her breath._

_"It's alright, da'len." Her low, whispered voice soothed the barest edge of Ellya's pain. "You are my kin, my family. Though blood may not tie you to this clan, we are forever yours and you forever ours. We have a bond that cannot be broken, not by distance and not by the haunted memories of the Beyond."_

_Deshanna's warm arms and calming breath wrapped all around her, making her feel as close to home as she ever imagined she would feel again._

_“Elgara vallas, da’len,” she began to sing in a soft tone. “Melava somniar. Mala tara aravas. Ara ma’desen melar.”_

_Ellya smiled faintly against Deshanna’s dark skin. Ever her tutor, even in comfort, she brought forth the ancient language and urged her to learn._

_“Iras ma ghilas, da’len,” Deshanna continued on, her voice even and lulling. Her words were barely above a hummed whisper as they filled the small room. “Ara ma’nedan ashir. Dirthara lothlenan’as. Bal emma mala dir.”_

_Ellya listened on, her lids growing heavy under the lullaby, despite the fear that settled in her bones. Deshanna sang of dreams and the Beyond as a place of happiness, a place of endless journeys and limitless imagination._

_“Tel’enfenim, da’len.” Deshanna’s voice floated just beyond Ellya’s consciousnesses, guiding her safely and remaining her steadfast companion to combat her nightmares. “Irassal ma ghilas. Ma garas mir renan. Ara ma’athlan vhenas. Ara ma’athlan vhenas.”_

_Sleep claimed her, but Deshanna’s words remained forever in her ears._

_Tel’enfenim, da’len._  
Irassal ma ghilas.  
Ma garas mir renan.  
Ara ma’athlan vhenas. 

_Never fear, little one._  
Wherever you shall go.  
Follow my voice -  
I will call you home. 

_In her sleep, Ellya smiled._

_I will call you home._

***

Ellya surged from the depths, her breath coming in giant gasps as she tried to fill her lungs and rid herself of the pain. Sobs poured unrelenting from her mouth. She couldn't stop the tears nor the shaking of her body. 

She could see them all so clearly before her: her friend Fenlan and his daughters, her teacher Master Senarel, the family she had found in Deshanna. She cried as she thought of the playing and giggling children, the gossiping hunters, and the dutiful elders. She wanted them here, ached for them with her entire being. She wanted them safe and to be able to go home to them, to share in their stories and laugh around their fires. She wanted not to have failed them, to have kept them safe from the shemlen when it had been in her power to do so. 

Elly fell forward as the spasms of her cries shook her control. Arms were wrapped around her waist and a strong chest was pressed into her back, but she couldn't stop the sorrow. She hung limply into the water and wailed. Tears for what was lost. And even more tears for what could never be again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who has been reading! Only one more chapter to go!
> 
> The song Deshanna sings is the Dalish lullaby from the World of Thedas, vol. 2. Full text and translation:  
> (sourced from the Dragon Age Wiki)
> 
> Elgara vallas, da'len  
> Melava somniar  
> Mala tara aravas  
> Ara ma'desen melar  
> Iras ma ghilas, da'len  
> Ara ma'nedan ashir  
> Dirthara lothlenan'as  
> Bal emma mala dir  
> Tel'enfenim, da'len  
> Irassal ma ghilas  
> Ma garas mir renan  
> Ara ma'athlan vhenas  
> Ara ma'athlan vhenas
> 
> Sun sets, little one,  
> Time to dream  
> Your mind journeys,  
> But I will hold you here.  
> Where will you go, little one  
> Lost to me in sleep?  
> Seek truth in a forgotten land  
> Deep with in your heart.  
> Never fear, little one,  
> Wherever you shall go.  
> Follow my voice--  
> I will call you home.  
> I will call you home.


	8. Chapter 8

Ellya turned the carved moth over in her hands. Its edges were smooth, worn by time and touch. Grooves had become shallow and the body chipped in several places, but the basic form remained the same. 

Sighing, Ellya ran her thumb over the moth's delicate wings, their patterns long gone. They were painted once. She could still see in her mind the bright red and greens and blues swirling and crossing in geometric shapes, even as now her eyes could only make out the inky sheen of oil over ironbark. She briefly pressed the figure to her lips and then held it tightly to her heart. 

A quiet knock sounded on the door. 

"Come in," she called softly, bringing the moth once again to her lap.

The door swung open slowly and Ishala stepped through. 

"Abelas has sent the others forth," she said, a hint of tired melancholy to her voice, "and so too must we follow."

Ellya nodded and reached for her pack resting on the bed beside her. 

Before Ellya could rise, though, Ishala put a hand on her shoulder and settled onto the silk coverlet.

"I hope you've found the answers you wanted to receive when you sought us out," Ishala said kindly, a question in her tone. 

Stroking the surface of the moth again, Ellya let a half smile cross her lips. 

"I did," she murmured. When Ishala remained silent, Ellya turned to her and held up the moth. "My father made this for me when I was very young, barely five. I keep it with me, always." She turned the figure in her hands. "It's in honor of Sylaise. Many Dalish parents carve little figurines and toys for their children to help them learn about our creators." She let out a small breath and chuckled. "And probably to help keep them quiet when our hahren tell the stories around the fires."

Ishala's smile broadened and gestured to the moth. "May I?"

Handing her the figure, Ellya watched with pride as Ishala turned the figure about and studied the detail carved into the wood. 

"It's fine work. Ironbark?" Ishala handed the moth back to Ellya. 

"Yes," Ellya replied, stroking the surface one last time before tucking it into her pack. 

"It's nice to see that some things aren't forgotten," Ishala said with a wry smile. 

"Some aren't, no." Sighing, Ellya turned to face Ishala fully. "But many things have been. And I think that's why I needed to come here."

Ishala quirked a brow at her, but waited for her to continue. 

"The Dalish cling to the past and fight relentlessly to reclaim the history of our people. To never submit to human rule. To one day restore the kingdom of the Elvhen. We believe that's our birthright and our duty." Bringing a hand to her forehead, Ellya grimaced. "But this?" She swiped her palm across her brow before letting her hand fall soundly into her lap. "These voices have shown me how wrong we've been. When I first drank, they were unintelligible. Just gentle whispers at my thoughts in a lost language. I could understand pieces, enough to help, but not the whole."

Pushing her hands into the mattress, Ellya stood and began to pace the room. 

"But after my work was done, when Corypheus was defeated," she continued, "I had nothing left to do but listen. During my dreams and eventually when I was awake, the whispers came and showed me things. Gave me glimpses into what once was. And I..." 

Ellya paused and her breath hitched. The dull ache of grief began to swell, but instead of pushing it aside, she wrapped herself around it, finally ready to embrace her pain.

She turned to Ishala who was listening attentively, hands folded across her lap and an urging look in her eyes. 

"Well, I was afraid." Ellya swallowed against the tightness in her throat. "I was afraid of knowing the truth. I was afraid that what I might find in here would destroy everything I had known and felt out there." She clutched her hands to her heart. "My clan is dead. My family is gone. I don't want to look at those moth carvings and think of their teachings and see a lie." Her lip quivered, but Ellya held herself strong. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and calmed her heart. "I think that's why I fought. That that's why I used the anchor to close off The Vir'Abelasan, even if I didn't mean to," she whispered. "Because if i let them in, my clan and my memories of them and all that they stood for would be forever tainted. I would have nothing left." She opened her eyes. "No longer Dalish. Not a flat ear. Not a shemlen. But truly alone."

In a slow movement, Ishala uncrossed her legs and stood. She walked the few paces to Ellya and, without hesitation, wrapped her into a firm embrace. 

"You will never be alone, da'len," she whispered against Ellya's hair and held her tight. "For you carry our people with you always." She pulled back slightly and tapped a finger to Ellya temple. "Mine in here." Her finger traveled to Ellya's chest. "And yours in there."

A sad smile pressed across Ishala's lips. "They may seem contradictory, but they're a continuum. One born of the other. Differences abound, even amongst ourselves, but take the knowledge of my history and meld it with the tradition and love of yours. Remembering the past doesn't mean you have to forget the future."

Ellya bit her lip and held back her sorrow. It was a bittersweet lesson to learn. 

"Are you ready?" Ishala asked in a gentle murmur. 

Ellya didn't feel quite ready. She had discovered so much in such a short time with the sentinel elves, about her people's history, about her gods, and about herself, and she felt unsteady. But still, she nodded and released Ishala to fetch her pack from the bed. It was time to move on.

The walk towards the surface was slow. Ellya cast her gaze around each room, wanting to memorize every detail, to never forget. The voices in her head pushed at her consciousness, but the pain was gone. She no longer fought, and they no longer thrashed to break free. They caressed her thoughts, instead, answering questions yet unasked, but dripped away to the recesses of her mind when she pushed them back. It was a dance and Ellya was finally beginning to take the lead. 

As she and Ishala ascended the steps to the open air, Ellya felt a great burden lift from her shoulders. There would be much to discover and it would take time and patience to heal the wounds that still bled within her heart and soul, but she was no longer afraid to try. 

Taking the final step into the small clearing, Ellya took in a deep breath and looked around. Abelas and Halani stood not far from the entrance to the temple, but a high-pitched honking noise drew her attention to the trees.

"Dorian! Varric! Bull!" Ellya shot off the top step and towards where her friends were waiting. They smiled as they stood along the tree line, holding the reigns of their mounts and hers.

Soon, Ellya found herself pressed tightly to Dorian's chest, Iron Bull's massive arms around them both and Varric chuckling nearby. 

"It's good to see you too," Dorian said with a laugh. "We were worried there for a moment."

"I thought you three would be well on your way back to Skyhold by now," Ellya said as she pulled back, both shocked and relieved at their presence. 

"Come on now," Varric teased and twirled a blade of grass in his hand, "you didn't really think we'd leave you here all alone with these characters, did you?" He jerked his chin towards where the three sentinel elves were watching them.

"We've got a camp not far from here," Bull cut in, gesturing south through the trees. "Been debating when we should make our way back here. One of them shiny elves came to us yesterday, though. Told us you were just about ready and that we should meet you here this morning."

Ellya felt her chest constrict and an overwhelming feeling of love and affection towards her friends fill her. "Thank you," she whispered with a watery smile. 

Glancing over her shoulder, Ellya saw Ishala, Halani, and Abelas still watching them. 

"Give me a moment, okay?" she murmured and walked back towards the sentinels. 

A lump of something formed in her throat as she approached Ishala and gave her a final hug, her rich and warm scent wrapping around her senses. She knew without a doubt she would miss her comforting and solid presence. 

"Thank you for everything, hahren," Ellya said, giving Ishala a slight bow. "It means more to me than you know."

Ishala patted Ellya's cheek and smiled. "May your path be clear and winding, da'len. And your heart filled with peace."

With a small tip of her head, Ellya bowed deeper, hoping that the respect she felt towards Ishala showed.

Straightening, she moved to Halani and grinned. "I suppose this is goodbye." She held out her hand. "I imagine you have a lot of world to discover."

Halani chuckled and glanced at Abelas. "About that..." she began and stepped forward. "I’ve known for a while that I’m a bit different than the others. That I want different things. To see the world, experience all it has to offer, meet new people."

Lettin her hand drop back to her side, Ellya tilted her head in confusion, but waited for Halani to continue.

“And I guess what I’m trying to say…” Halani fidgeted and slid her palm together. “...what I was really wondering, is, since I have permission from the elders, would it be okay if I traveled with you? At least for a little while?”

For the first time in a long while, Ellya felt an ecstatic joy fill her heart. "Yes! Of course!" She yanked Halani into a tight hug. "I would be honored if you accompanied me." She pulled back with a grin. “It’s a long way to Skyhold. And I’m sure my friend Varric can regale you with stories of whatever you want to know.” A chuckle escaped her lips at the prospect of continuing her tentative friendship, but soon Ellya frowned and looked around. "What about Arlassan, though? I thought you two were together."

Halani let out a small huff of laughter. "We'll still be together," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "but right now we each need to find ourselves in this strange age. He has his path, and I have mine." She grasped Ellya's hands and squeezed them gently before letting go. "Don't worry. He and I will see each other again."

With a soft kiss on Ellya's cheek, Halani stepped to the side. 

All that was left was Abelas, and Ellya felt her heart skip as she looked at him. He was back in his golden armor, and he stared down at her from beneath his hood, his features calm and impassive as always, but his eyes remained soft and his gaze searching. 

Swallowing, she stepped closer to him. 

"Where will you go now?" She asked, her voice hushed and suddenly hoarse. 

"I thought my vigil complete. That all that remained was to lead my people into the twilight of uthenera," Abelas replied and cast his eyes to the trees. "Yet, I find such a notion hollow and the draw of something else within my bones. Perhaps other places do remain: lost temples and people, guardians like myself." He sighed. "And my own sentinels. I must ensure they find the peace they deserve. So, we will journey forth." He brought her eyes back to her face with a soft smile. "And like you, I have many questions in need of an answer."

Chewing on her bottom lip, Ellya dipped her chin in a slight nod and took in a deep breath. "There are no adequate words for how grateful I am to you," she whispered, eyes searching his. "You helped me when you didn't have to. And you have given me so much more than you probably know." Reaching forward, she placed her palm over his heart. "I pray you find all that you seek, Abelas." She smiled softly. "And know that you will always be welcome at Tarasyl'an Tel'as should you ever find yourself in the south."

Without a blink, Abelas raised his arm and gently twined his fingers with her own over his heart. "Dareth shiral, lethallan," he said with a bow of his head. "Until we meet again."

With one final squeeze of their hands, Ellya let go and turned to rejoin her friends. 

The walk to Da'Vir felt like a rebirth, a new life mixed with a tinge of mourning for what was washed away. Each step she took away from the Temple of Fen'harel took her towards her future, but she still carried its lessons and the connections she formed within its depths, deep in her heart. 

Climbing into her saddle, Ellya helped Halani up behind her and smiled. 

"You all right, Boss?" Iron bull called from her side. 

As Ellya turned Da'Vir south, back towards skyhold and the life that had shaped her future, she felt for the first time in a long time that it was true. 

The future was hers to make, no longer suffocated by the past. The past shaped who she was, and she would always hold it dear, but it could no longer define who she could become. A great weight lifted as Da'Vir's steps loped into a gallop: back towards home. 

"Yes," she murmured more to herself than anyone else,"I think I will be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with me on this journey. Everyone who has left kudos and reviews means so much to me. You are who helps me stay motivated and keep writing. <3 <3 <3 And a huge thank you to saarebitch, my dutiful beta and friend. 
> 
> There will indeed be a sequel, in the months to come! Ellya and Abelas will take on the shemlen political arena and the elven underground, both city and dalish alike, in order to reclaim the Dales and secure a future for their people. (and there will be actual romance!)


End file.
